I See Dead People
by StrigoiVii
Summary: Dean has a near death experience, and doesn't come back from it entirely alone. Can he handle his feminine side. before she kills him? Loaded w/ Hurt!Dean & Sam angst, please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

I like a short and sweet intro, much more detail to follow (Besides, my wonderful son showed up unexpectedly for the weekend from college, had to cut it short to catch up. I'm sure you all understand, right?)

Chapter 1

"Dean, I told you we wouldn't make it to Delavan on an eighth of a tank of gas," Sam grumbled as they walked along the dark, deserted stretch of back road, the safety of the Impala left far behind.

"And I told you we had a quarter tank of gas Sam," Dean shot back, not willing to admit Sam had been right, that they should have stopped in the last town they'd passed to fill up.

"Yeah, well it still wasn't enough, was it Mr. Road Ranger?" Sam huffed, the pace of his long legs quickening just enough for Dean to have to step his own up to an almost slow jog to keep up with his seriously annoyed brother.

"Damn it Sam, will you slow down? My legs aren't as freakishly long as yours you know."

"Yeah, I know, since you always seem to feel the need to remind me of my physical attributes, or maybe it's to console yourself for your physical shortcomings."

"Dude, I don't have any 'short' comings," Dean roared, his self instigated laughter falling short on Sam's already taxed sense of humor.

Sam shook his head, his scowl hidden by the dark of night surrounding them and Dean's inability or unwillingness to keep pace, both of which caused him to lag farther and farther behind. Sam walked even faster, hoping to piss his brother off as much as Dean had pissed off him, ignoring his warnings about the gas gauge as he forced his way on down the road. Ignorance is bliss, unless it earns you a six mile walk to the nearest town because your asshole brother had said '_Not to worry, at worst we'll coast in on fumes'_. Sam had walked so far ahead, Dean couldn't even see him anymore, his increasing irritation blocking out every word coming from his big brother's mouth.

"Hey Sam, you can walk as fast as you want, but I'm the one with the gas can," Dean hollered into the night, fully expecting Sam to stop and wait, honestly thinking Sam could see him waving said red gas can in the air in the dark.

And Stop Sam did, his body blindly whipping around to face the direction Dean was in, the moonless dark cloaking him, and opened his mouth to release the string of curse words that had been on the tip of his tongue for the last half hour, each step he took adding yet another word to the list of expletives ready come. The tirade was ready to flow, until Sam saw the headlights in the distance.

They were on back roads, but not desolate back roads, the area seeing it's fair share of traffic during the day. The lights approached quickly and somewhat erratically, illuminating the roadside enough for Sam to finally see where Dean was. Standing a good twenty yards away and on the pavement, Dean also watched as the headlights fast approached, the weave of the oncoming car a little unnerving. Sam saw what was happening long before Dean did, the distance between them affording him a wider range of vision at the impending disaster before him. The words he attempted to scream at Dean stuck in his throat as the car barreled down on him, Dean's movement quick, but not quick enough.

The monstrous black beast hit him at full speed, sending his body flying through the air, a towering willow tree stopping his trajectory mid-flight, as he crumpled to the ground, the soft, dry grass under him soaking up the blood that seeped from his body like a parched vampire, every drop absorbed the instant it made contact with the dry dirt underneath.

Sam stood there watching in horror as the oversized black sedan took out his brother, sending Dean's body flying through the air and into a tree, then careened sharply left as it's front end kissed yet another tree, instantly halting it's forward progress as the front end crumpled in on itself.

Sam ran at full speed towards the spot he'd seen his brother land, hoping and praying he'd still find some kind of breath still in him, the doubt creeping inside as the crunching sounds of the car hitting Dean filled his head repetitively. Finding him easily and dropping down at his brother's side, Sam searched Dean's neck for a pulse, finding a weak but present one, the sigh of relief apparent only to the tree owls that had bothered to listen.

Whipping out his phone, he thanked whatever god looked down favorably upon the Winchester's today as he had a full five bars, quickly dialing 911, the answer he received almost instantaneous.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My brother just got hit by a car, and the car just ran into a tree! We're on Rt. 14, just outside of Delavan. Please hurry, he's barely breathing," Sam's tone was grave, the anger he felt towards his brother totally forgotten as Dean lay bleeding, and possibly dying, in his arms.

"Saaaamm, whaaaatttt theee fffuuuccckkk jjuuussssttttt hhaaapppeeeennneeeddd?" Dean spit out through the spurts of blood from his lips, each word adding an additional trickle of crimson flowing down his too pale face.

Sam held his brother tight against him, his arms trembling as he saw the blood flowing from his head and lips, his ears begging for the blessed sounds of sirens, even in the distance, to signify that help was coming."

"Dude, that car just took you out 'fast and furious' style. Just lay still, help is on the way," Sam relayed the information to Dean, not really sure that help would arrive in time to do any good. Dean's breathing became more shallow with every second that passed, Sam's fear rising with every breath that was shuddered or skipped.

"Come on man, stay with me. You're the one with the gas can, remember? I can't go anywhere without you," Sam's fear was coming through loud and clear in his voice, falling hard on Dean's ears like an Acme weight.

"TThhaatt bbaadd Ssaammmmmyy?" Dean questioned, his vision just about totally dark now, every ounce of strength he had holding on to what little consciousness he still had, Sam's tone telling him that if he passed out, it may be forever.

End Notes: I didn't mean to make the intro so short, and the story does get much more detailed later!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Blood soaked Sam's shirt as he cradled his brother's body against him, his head bleeding, his legs twisted in an unnatural position, his shoulders hunched in, his breathing becoming more and more labored. Sam could feel the warmth that was spreading across his legs as blood started staining his jeans under Dean's back.

"Dean, you still with me?" Sam's voice shook, his inability to hide the intense fear he felt filtering into Dean's cloudy head. With his eyes drifting slowly open to look up at him, Dean looked but really didn't see him as Sam gently tapped his cheek.

"I'm cold Sam… so cold… hurts to breathe… can't keep my eyes open anymore," his voice was nothing more than a hushed whisper as his eyes closing again now that the lids were too heavy for him to hold up.

"No Dean, stay awake, come on, help is coming, I can hear the sirens, just talk to me until they get here," Sam was begging now, begging his brother to live.

"Sorry Sammy… I should've stopped when you told me to," the last words were spoken in a slur and as Dean's eyes finally shut tight, his body went totally limp against Sam's.

"Dean, oh god, come on, don't do this to me…"

Dean pulled himself up off the ground as he heard the sirens somewhere off in the distance but approaching fast, the flashing lights that were now coming towards them like a beacon through a dense fog. He could hear Sam saying something to him but he couldn't seem to make it out when it came out quiet and garbled. Scanning the immediate area around him, he tried looking in every direction possible but his surveying of the area ended abruptly when his eyes immediately fell on the large, black car crumpled up against the tree across the street. He started towards it as the passenger side door opened, the man inside dropping to the ground and quickly making his way into the trees beyond the roadside before anyone could see him. Dean was intent on following him, until he heard a voice calling from behind him.

"Hello, can anyone hear me?" A woman's voice called out, her eyes seeing Dean in the distance. She started towards him as he turned and started towards her, the two of them meeting in the middle of the road as a slew of police cars, ambulances and fire trucks screeched to a halt all around them from both directions.

The police cars immediately turned to face each other bumper to bumper, closing off the road going both north and south as paramedics climbed from their seats with their equipment in hand. The emergency crews ignored Dean and the woman as they ran past them breakneck speed, some to the car lodged against the large tree and some off in the other direction to the roadside. Dean tried to get their attention and he couldn't stop the confusion that started settling in at their absolute ignorance of his presence. The woman in front of him was crying now, her deep blue eyes red and swollen as the tears streamed down her swollen face. She wrapped her arms around Dean, holding on to him for dear life.

"Hey, what's going on?" He asked her, unable to pull free from her iron grip around his waist.

"I'm so sorry, please, come with me, I need to show you something before it's too late," she choked out through her tears, taking Dean by the hand and dragging him to the mangled vehicle now currently surrounded by firemen and paramedics.

Quickly approaching unnoticed by the workers around them, she pushed Dean to the lifeless body lying on the pavement with blood covering her face and chest as the EMTs working feverishly to force life back inside it. Dean shook his head in disbelief at the sight of the woman on the ground when his eyes immediately fixed on the face of the young woman standing before him, realizing they were one in the same. Even through the blood, he could make out her facial features, knowing now he was looking into the eyes of her spirit as her body lay dead on the ground before him. He tried to pull away from her, but she was strong and as she held onto his wrist in a firm grip, she was obviously refusing to let go.

"That's it, she's gone. Mark the time. What about the other one?" One of the paramedics called as another haphazardly tossed a sheet over the body and pointed to the police that had already starting their investigation.

With her relentless grip still intact, she again dragged Dean across the road where he could see more medics working frantically on another body lying lifeless in the grass, his eyes going wide when they fell on the face of his brother leaning against the huge tree, green faced and trying not to vomit on his own shoes. He didn't want to look at the body laying in the grass as the medical crews tried working life back into that one too, since he already had a pretty good idea what the face would look like when he saw it. Through the tube down the throat, the mask over the face, the brace around the neck and the blood caked on the cheeks and in the hair, he watched in horror as a frantic medic worked hard at compressing the chest of the man lying on the ground and in a state of shock, he finally got a good look at himself, and he was clearly dead.

"What the hell is going on? Are we both dead?" He stared into her bloodshot eyes, the recollection of the car coming at him slowly creeping back into his head as the memory of it hitting him and sending him into the tree replaying like a movie in slow motion his mind.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my fault. I was already dead," she cried again, her hand still firmly grasped around Dean's wrist as she almost crushed it.

Dean heard a soft electrical whine coming from behind him, then heard someone shouting "Clear," and at that very moment, he felt all control leave his body as his vision started going dark, the feeling of what was left of him being pulled somewhere in the distance one that he couldn't fight. Again, he heard the whine, then the shout. This time, he felt his body slam hard onto the ground; that hand digging into his flesh still clenched tight around his wrist. The pain that flooded back into him was almost more than he could bear as the second jolt hit him. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, but somehow he knew he was still alive as that pain coursed throughout every muscle in his body and he welcomed it, safely letting his mind drift into nothingness.

"He's back, let's load him up and get him the hell out of here!"

They started scrambling as they immobilized his body and loaded him into the awaiting ambulance, the sirens blaring through the still of the night as they barreled down the road in the dark. Sam sat next to his brother in the back, his shirt and jeans now sticky and stained. Dean's blood on his hands had dried and turned brown and his stomach contents were ready to spill on the floor at any second. Each pothole the emergency vehicle hit threatened to bring them up closer and closer to the floor. He was lost in his own thoughts and almost didn't notice the hand landing on his knee that felt cold and clammy even through his jeans but it did finally draw him back to the present and as he looked into the face of his brother, he was shocked to see Dean's eyes open and staring right into Sam's.

Sam took Dean's bloodied hand in his own and returned the petrified stare, a slight bit of relief finally starting find its way into Sam's nerve wracked body. He squeezed his hand tight, trying to will some comfort and support into his brother, the grasp that was returned as a well deserved thank-you comforted the younger brother just a little. Sam stared into Dean's eyes, trying to figure out just what wasn't right. They were bloodshot and glassy, but something was off. The harder Sam looked, the realization finally sunk in. One of Dean's eyes was its usual soft green color, but oddly, the other didn't match anymore. The other eye was a deep shade of blue.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean's first attempt at rejoining the waking world had been one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made in his entire life, and he'd made a lot of them in his few short years on earth. The closer he drifted to consciousness, the harder and faster the pain pulsed through him, starting in his legs, crawling up into his hip, up through his back and chest, bottlenecking through his neck and out through the top of his head, only to turn around and travel right back down again in one long, vicious circle. Add that to the fact that they'd stuck needles and tubes in places he didn't even know they could and they sure as hell didn't belong, and he decided he had no intentions of facing that music right now. His mind turned around, and quietly lifted the white flag of surrender, opting to hide itself in the comfort of nothingness, at least for a little while longer.

His second attempt had been a little more bold, almost fully making it back to the land of the living, until the damn tube stuck down his throat started choking him as he tried to take in his own air. The more he tried, the harder it got though, as the damn circus elephants decided to dance directly on is chest, and damn it if that intense throbbing pain still wasn't there, coursing through him like water flowing down a rain soaked river, ready to overflow. He didn't know that many places could all hurt at one time, and he really could have done without that lesson, so back into his own mind he retreated once again, deciding to save is fight for another day.

On his third attempt he was right there, his eyes actually briefly fluttering, the damn thing they'd shoved down his throat that had been choking him finally gone, finally able to draw in his own air on his own terms, until he felt the damn tube they'd now stuck down his nose every time he tried to swallow. The pain had finally reduced itself to tolerable, at least tolerable to him, until he actually had the brilliant idea to try and move. Big mistake, the pain obviously laying dormant, just waiting to be called forth again, and come forth it did with a vengeance, like someone had stuck him with bare wires attached directly to an electrical socket in the wall, then doused him with water. That was it for one day, he'd had enough. He crawled back into the shelter of his mind, preferring to return to the safety he found there then to the harsh reality outside.

By his fourth attempt, he was pretty determined to make it all the way out, the quiet of his own head now somewhat unnerving to him, and not entirely quiet anymore. There was a little voice in there with him, whispering just quietly enough that he couldn't make out what it was saying, and it was definitely female. There was no longer room in there for the both of them, so he sucked it up and decided it was time to come out and play.

Slowly opening his eyes, he saw nothing. The room was pitch dark, no light filtering in from any direction that he could see aiding in his visual quest. He limited his movement to just his eyes at first, the pain in his head and neck too much to even attempt such a drastic change of position as he darted his eyes from left to right, fear starting to rise that maybe, just maybe, he'd gone blind. He knew he wasn't alone though as the unmistakable rhythm of the deep breathing from across the room sent some measure of relief over him, the pattern of breath so familiar to him, the pattern he needed so badly to hear.

"Sam? Is that you over there?" His voice was little more the a whisper, it not sounding right in his own ears. He was Dean Winchester, he didn't whine like a girl, until today, that is.

He heard the rustle of sheets just before he heard feet land hard on the floor, the breathing no longer coming from across the room, but from right in front of him. He felt a hand firmly grip his wrist, as his voice came out groggy and cracked, it still lingering in the stages of sleep it had been so abruptly torn from.

"Dean, oh my god, are you awake?"

"Sam, I can't see. Am I blind?"

Sam didn't answer, instead reached over his brother's head above the bed, slowly turning the dimmer switch to the light and illuminating the room just enough for Dean to see, but not enough to blind him by going from instant dark to instant light before his eyes could adjust or react. He let out an audible sigh of relief, as Sam let out one of his own, his brother finally back with him, the worry it would never happen quickly fading.

"Dude, do you have any idea how much I hate Illinois?"

"Dean, we're not in Illinois, we're in Wisconsin."

"Whatever, I officially hate Wisconsin too. Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Beloit."

"Great, a city that's name sounds like drunken dry heaves. When the hell can we get out of here, anyway? That damn spirit we were after isn't going to salt and burn itself," he started fidgeting in his bed, the tube down his nose momentarily forgotten, ready to pull out one needle after another, not really taking in the full extent of his situation.

Sam grasped his shoulder in a firm grip, silently telling Dean that what he was thinking wasn't a very good idea. "Bobby already took care of it for us. He actually just left a couple days ago, had something else he needed to take care of. Said he'd be back when he was done."

"A couple days ago? Shit Sam, how long have we been here?" Dean couldn't hide the tension in his voice as he got more and more agitated, his lack of memory starting to grate on his nerves.

"Dean, calm down. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Running out of gas, leaving the Impala and walking down that dark road, man, you were pissed at me……SHIT, where's my car Sam? If something happened to the car, I swear…" If he wasn't agitated before, he was full on panicked now as he doubled his efforts to drag himself from his bed, oblivious to the tubes holding him there in various places.

Sam shoved him back down easily, it not really requiring much effort and answered him calmly, hoping it would have a mirror effect on his now borderline frantic brother.

"The car's fine, it's down in the parking lot as we speak. Bobby was in Michigan when I called him, he came and towed it for me. Put a little gas in it, it's good as new. Chill out, there isn't a scratch on it."

Dean visibly calmed, one less thing to worry about taxing his brain, which was almost on the verge of overload, that little voice in his head telling him he should have never left the quiet comfort inside and come out into this nightmare outside it.

"Sam, how long has it been? Stop screwing around and tell me what the hell happened before I really start to get pissed."

"Been awake for five minutes and you're already back to your old self. That's a good sign, I think."

"SAM!"

"Ok already. We were walking, and you got hit by that car that came swerving down the road. You tried to get out of the way, but it clipped you anyway and sent you flying into a tree. It messed you up pretty bad. The doctors didn't think you were going to make it for a while. Dean, you were dead, I mean clinically dead, for over four minutes. You broke more bones then anyone thought was humanly possible to break at one time, you've had three surgeries, and you've been in a coma since, except for that short time you came to in the ambulance. Do you remember any of it, anything at all?"

Dean let everything Sam said sink in as his mind did focus on a few fuzzy memories of that night. He remembered seeing the car against the tree, the woman in the road, and something else, something that wouldn't quite come to the front of his mind.

"The people in the car, what happened to them?" He asked, some memory lingering just out of reach, hoping Sam's answer would provide the spark to bring it to the forefront.

"The woman driving the car didn't make it. After she hit you, she hit a tree on the other side of the road. Cops said her airbag and seatbelt were faulty, and when the belt didn't lock and the airbag didn't deploy, the impact against the tree drove her into the steering wheel. She died at the scene, Dean. They said she was epileptic and must have had a seizure or something. They think that's why she lost control of the car and hit you."

"What about the passenger, the guy?"

Unable to hide his scowl, he just shook his head at Dean, "There was no passenger. She was alone in the car."

"Yes there was, I saw him. I saw him get out of the car and take off into the woods."

"Dean, you couldn't have seen anyone, you were all the way on the other side of the road, in the grass, and believe me, you weren't seeing anything."

"Sam, I know what I saw."

"Ok Dean, just relax. When did you see this guy?"

"Right before the ambulances showed up, I was standing in the street……" Dean words trailed off, his thoughts sending a chill up his spine as he chose the rest of them carefully. "Sam, when was I dead?"

Sam stared at his brother's eyes, the eerie change in their color still present as he answered. "You died in my arms Dean, right before the ambulance got there. They brought you back before they took you to the hospital. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Maybe, I don't know. How long has it been Sam? How long have I been out?"

"It's been five weeks Dean, five long weeks."

Dean stared at Sam, not really comprehending what he was being told, his voice trailing off as he watched Sam's lips move. He knew Sam was saying something he needed to hear, but couldn't really focus on it, as his body stiffened and started jerking uncontrollably. Through open eyes, he watched Sam stand and run, mouth open wide in what he knew had to be a scream, but he was helpless to utter a single word. As the seizure wracked his body, he heard the voice inside his head again, that woman's voice, as she spoke to him, pleaded to him.

"Please, help me, don't leave me trapped here. It wasn't my fault, please, don't leave me here," she cried, her voice trailing as the convulsions that had overtaken Dean's body subsided, leaving him breathless and confused.

Sam was back at his side by the time he caught his breath, with a doctor and nurses in tow. Dean could hear them talking, either to him or at him, he really didn't care which, the pain the seizure brought on throughout his body forcing his mind back into itself, at least for a little while. He closed his eyes, and as he drifted off to sleep, mumbled one last thing that none of them could make out, not even Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The last five weeks flashed through Sam's mind as he watched his brother's involuntary contorting and convulsing slowly reduce itself to twitching and quivering until he finally went still, his only movement an occasional shiver. The memories paraded past Sam's eyes one by one, each just as painful as they had been when they'd originally been etched into Sam's memory.

The night of the accident when they'd finally made it to the hospital, they'd whisked Dean away, leaving Sam to the obligatory paperwork, on to his frantic call to Bobby, then on to start the waiting game he hated. It had been two long hours when someone, he still wasn't sure who and hasn't seen since, had come out, not to offer any updates on his brother's condition, but to offer his condolences and ask Sam if Dean would be in need of a priest, minister, or rabbi. In a sick sort of way, Sam guessed that question was an answer in itself. Knowing his brother's feelings on the whole organized religion subject, and God himself for that matter, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat, answering not for his brother, but for himself, telling him a minister would be appreciated. Dean may not want any kind of final absolution, but Sam needed it for him.

Another two hours later, a doctor finally emerged through the 'Authorized Personnel Only' doors, his eyes trained directly on Sam, somehow knowing exactly who he was looking for as he came through. He offered a hand in greetings, and as Sam shook it, he instantly knew things were worse then he thought they were, and since they already offered a priest, he didn't know how much worse things could actually be. The doctor escorted Sam to somewhere private, yet another really bad sign, and proceeded to give him the prognosis. He said they were having a hard time keeping Dean stable, but if they didn't stop the internal bleeding now, he wouldn't live to see the morning. Operating now was a huge risk, but they had no other choice. The doctor was frank with Sam, also telling him that it would be a miracle if he made it through the surgery itself, then asked Sam what he wanted them to do. Bouncing between miracle and certain death, Sam's choice was a simple one, his only request that he get to see Dean before they took him away, needing to see him alive just one more time. The doctor sympathetically obliged, showing Sam to his brother's bedside, where the minister already stood waiting.

Sam stood next to his brother's shoulder and took his hand in his own, careful not to jar the needle and tubing attached to it or slow the red flow going through it. Taking the offered had of the minister in his other, he bowed his head as the minister prayed, each word he spoke bringing another set of tears streaming down his face for him to wipe away on his shoulder. Once the final 'Amen' had been said, the minister excused himself, leaving the brothers alone. Sam held on to Dean's hand as tight as he dared, wanting to say so many things, but being unable to find the right words.

Sam felt like he'd only had barely five minutes with Dean before they came for him, telling Sam they needed to get started now. Sam leaned into his brother, whispering the only thing he could think of to say before he let them take him away.

"Please don't leave me alone Dean, please," he begged, gently laying his hand back down as he took in its warmth for what he knew could quite possibly be the last time. They wheeled him away, leaving Sam alone again.

The minister reappeared as if sent from heaven, offering Sam a clean pair of scrub pants and a t-shirt, his clothes still covered in Dean's now dried blood, making them stiff and somewhat odoriferous. The man had a truly kind heart, offering Sam the use of the showers to clean himself up, knowing he would be their guest for the remainder of the night and well into the morning, and Sam gratefully accepted.

Placing his soiled clothes in a bag for safe keeping, he stood under the hot spray for a short eternity, hoping the water would work out some of the knots and kinks in his sore, aching muscles. The steamy fog relaxed him somewhat, but not much. He shut off the water, drying and dressing quickly and throwing his towel in the bin with the rest of the dirty laundry. Grabbing the bag he'd stowed his bloodied garments in, he shivered at the thought of why he was actually keeping them in the first place, knowing full well he may need to burn them later.

The minister had handed Sam over to an overly compassionate nurse, who escorted him to the waiting area, offering him coffee, pop, juice, or water. Declining each and every one, Sam just sank into an awaiting couch as the nurse silently offered him a blanket, which he did accept thankfully. So here he was, watching the time tick away and waiting for them to come and tell him his brother was dead.

As the hours crept by, Sam's adrenaline had totally worked its way from his system, leaving him utterly exhausted. He didn't know how long it had been when he dozed off, but when he woke, he was more then grateful to see he wasn't waiting alone anymore. Bobby had made it there sometime during his sleep, silently taking a seat next to Sam as not to wake him, and taking over the vigil for him.

Bobby told him he'd towed the car to the nearest gas station, filled it up, and towed it to the hospital, expertly maneuvering it into an open parking space as if someone had pulled it in himself. He'd told them downstairs that he was their uncle, asked what was going on, and was only told to go upstairs and wait; someone would talk to them shortly. He'd done just that, finding Sam sleeping soundly against the arm of the couch, and did what he was told, waited. That had been just over an hour ago.

Sam started asking Bobby more questions, but was silenced by the footsteps coming down the hall. Both men stood as the doctor approached, his face not displaying anything either man could decipher as positive or negative. He shook Sam's hand yet again, and then shook Bobby's as he proceeded to deliver his news.

He told them both Dean somehow made it through surgery, then told them something else which Sam didn't really hear, the words 'made it through' tumbling around in his head were leaving no room for anything else. He knew Bobby was listening though, so he really didn't need to pay attention anyway, his mind too taxed to process anymore. He did start paying attention when the doctor said they could see him, but only for a little while, they still had numerous things to do yet.

They'd entered the room prepared for the worst, and the worst was exactly what they got. There weren't very many spots on Dean's body that didn't have a tube or hose or wires or bandages or bruises, as machines whined and beeped and hissed everywhere. If Bobby hadn't been standing right behind Sam to catch him, he would have fallen flat on his ass, his knees going weak and buckling under him as he fully entered the room. Even covered by a thin white sheet, Sam could see Dean's leg bent in places it shouldn't be, and swollen to almost twice its normal size. The doctor had followed them in, ready to answer any questions they had, and Sam had a lot of them. Too bad he couldn't voice them very well, his thoughts too unfocused to come out intelligently. He asked about the leg, the doctor explaining it would require surgery to repair the crushed hip the leg attached to, and the leg would require some repair too, the impact of the car crushing the bones inside. It would have to wait though, until he was stable enough for them to do it safely.

The doctor also explained to them that there was bleeding in his brain from the impact against the tree that may requires surgery too, but for now they were watching him carefully for any negative changes. They didn't want to have to deal with that until absolutely necessary. That was really the last thing Sam heard, he had to stop listening or he'd go stark raving mad. He and Bobby sat in silence after the doctor excused himself, Sam silently praying in his seat and hoping God would hear him. Why not, he'd listened the first time, hadn't he? After all, Dean was still alive.

A little while ended up being the remainder of the night, which was actually morning by chronological standards, the sun up and shining bright by the time they'd been chased from the room. Dean seemed to improve somewhat over the last few hours; at least that's what Sam told himself. Sam and Bobby both been in and out over the next day or so, patiently waiting for something to happen.

Happen it did too, the swelling in Dean's head becoming dangerous as they took him away yet again, for hours that seemed to have no end. They'd brought him back bandaged up, but Sam knew under all the white they'd shaved Dean's head, and man, he was going to be pissed, with a capital p.

More days passed uneventfully, Dean never once even remotely showing signs of waking, By the end of the first week, they felt confident they could take care of that hip and leg, knowing they'd probably already waited too long. Off Dean went again as the hours passed, Sam silently thanking god when he'd returned, hoping that it would be the last time. He hated it when they took Dean away, the fear he wouldn't come back nagging at him each time he knew they were putting him under, even though he wasn't conscious to begin with.

The next days dragged on into weeks, as slowly things began to improve, to everyone's amazement. Bones had been set and casted, they'd finally been able to remove the ventilator, only to make way for the feeding tube they'd stuck down his nose, not knowing when Dean would be able to eat or drink, since that required being conscious, and there was no sign of that happening any time soon,

Someone had generously footed the bill for a private room and arranged for Sam to also stay in it around the clock. Sam didn't know whom, but he had his suspicions. It was obviously someone scared that they were going to be sued for running down a person that was innocently walking down the road. Sam mentally laughed at that, thinking 'If they only knew who'd they ran over'.

By the fourth week, Dean let out an occasional mumble or moan, but still never made any effort to open his eyes. He'd twitch or jerk occasionally, each movement filling Sam with anticipation, only to have it ripped away when it was nothing more then just that, a twitch or jerk. Bobby had finally left, needing to take care of some business, but promising Sam he'd be back as soon as he could. Since their dad died, Bobby had become their surrogate father, and right now, Sam needed him.

Bobby had been gone for only a few days when Dean finally opened his eyes, speaking to Sam for the first time in what seemed like forever. He was walking on cloud nine, until the seizure hit. Dragging the doctor and nurses into the room, he stood by helplessly as Dean's body did whatever it pleased, that one blue eye seemingly staring right through him, it somehow taking on a life of it's own. He wanted to know why this was happening now, after all this time. Sam should have known he wouldn't get an answer right away, and a few hours after the seizure struck, they took Dean away again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam paced the room for what seemed like forever as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, making everything around him appear to be bright and cheery. It was anything but that to him as he shuffled from one corner of the room to another across the empty space in the center where the bed had been that was now gone. He'd brush his hair out of his face every now and then, but wouldn't sit, couldn't sit. So he just paced and waited.

He hadn't slept in hours either, not once closing his eyes since Dean had woke up, not even when he'd seemingly passed out after that awful seizure wracked his body, afraid his brother would have another one at any second. That never happened, his sleep being uneventful but for the occasional mumble Sam couldn't even make out escaping his lips. They'd come and taken him away a couple hours ago, wanting to run their usual test, needing to find out what the cause of the episode had been, needing to find out if there was something they'd missed or something new developing. Sam figured they probably just wanted to cover their own asses, and since someone else was footing the bill, he really didn't care.

He continued his nervous pacing across the room he'd truly come to hate. He had rarely left it over the last five weeks, and when he did it was never for more then an hour or two at a time. When he wasn't sitting next to his brother talking to him or with the TV blaring out one of Dean's favorite movies, he'd sit in silence and stare at the walls, listening to his brother breathe, every now and then holding his hand, needing to feel for himself that it was still warm in his own and hoping he'd eventually come back to him.

They hadn't held out much hope in the beginning, but as each day went by, they were more and more optimistic, although they had told Sam on more then one occasion that Dean may never wake up and he should prepare himself for that. They were dead wrong though, and if it meant they'd have to live the rest of their lives with this new problem, at least it was better then living the rest of his life alone. He just hoped Dean would feel the same way. Looking at the positive side, at least the positive side to Sam, maybe now they'd finally start to live some kind of semi-normal lives. Hunting would be totally out of the question if Dean's condition was permanent.

He was so totally lost in his own thoughts he almost jumped from his own skin when he felt his phone vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans, thankful Dean hadn't heard the shriek of surprise that came from his mouth like a startled schoolgirl finding a big hairy spider in her locker. He pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open, not even bothering to see who it was. Only one person ever called them anymore these days, and it was the only person, other then Dean, Sam wanted to talk to anyway.

"Hey Bobby, where are you?" Sam answered his phone with a question, the tone of voice sending up instant red flags to the man on the other end.

"I'm on my bay back. Anything new?" Bobby asked, his familiar gruff tone making Sam feel somewhat better, making him feel like he wasn't so alone in the world.

"Dean woke up Bobby, late last night," he started to answer, Bobby cutting him off mid-sentence.

"He's awake? That's good news Sam. How does he feel?" The usually stoic hunter couldn't hide the excitement in his voice.

"Bobby, something's wrong. We were talking, then he just started having some kind of seizure, and he's been out again ever since. They're running some tests now to see if they can figure out why." Sam's voice not sharing Bobby's enthusiasm as it came out tired and pained. Sam could almost see the older hunter's face fall as he told him what happened.

"You were talking? What were you talking about?"

"We were talking about the accident, and what happened, then he just started convulsing. It was awful to watch, I can't even imagine how it must have felt. It looked so painful."

"Boy, you gotta stop beating yourself up over this, will ya? I know you think this is all your fault, but I'm telling you it's not. Shit happens sometimes Sam, and it's nobody's fault."

"But Bobby, if I'd just…" Sam started but Bobby cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear anymore guilt from Sam mouth. There was something about Winchester guilt that never seemed to end.

"If you'd just what Sam? If you'd just not been so pissed at him that you didn't want to breathe the same air as he did and weren't walking so far ahead you couldn't push him out of the way and take the hit yourself? Then you'd be laying there and he'd be in your shoes, and you know what that would be like for him. He's worse then you are when it comes to that. Let it go Sam, he doesn't need it and neither do you. I'll be there in a couple days and your pity party better be over and all cleaned up by the time I get there, because I have no intentions of chaperoning it, you got that?"

"Yeah, I got it. See you in a couple days, and thanks Bobby," Sam knew Bobby was right, he was always right, but that didn't really make him feel that much better. He needed to talk to Dean, needed to know that Dean didn't blame him, that Dean forgave him.

"Call me if anything else happens Sam, and I mean anything."

Bobby hung up the phone without waiting for an answer, leaving Sam to rethink everything he'd said to him. How did Bobby know them so well anyway? Back to his pacing he went after stuffing the phone back into his pocket, until he heard the footsteps coming from the hall, pausing outside the door for a few moments before coming inside. Sam had become all too familiar with the medical staff that rotated in and out, this time the neurologist paying a visit. Considering the circumstances, who else would it be anyway?

"Dr. Andrews, how's Dean? What's wrong with him now?" Sam asked, sounding like a scared child begging for a parent.

"There's nothing wrong with him that stands out Sam. Everything looks fine. We ran every test we could think of and found no abnormalities. It was probably just an isolated incident and probably won't happen again but we'll watch him carefully for the next few days just to be sure, so relax, will you? He should be back in here any minute, and I'm sure you two still have a lot to talk about."

"He's awake?" Sam's eyes perked up, a positive light starting to shine in them for the first time since the night before when he'd heard his brother speak to him for the first time in weeks.

"He was when I left him. Wanted to know if you'd go get him a burger, fries, and a six pack since we've taken out the feeding tube. He had a few choice words for me when I told him no, so if he asks, he has to eat what we give him and that's it for now, nothing else."

"Great, that'll put him in a stellar mood."

"Oh, so that's what you call that, stellar? No offense Sam, but I think I preferred him when he was still in the coma. At least he was peaceful and compliant then."

"Yeah, that's Dean. I'll talk to him. Don't worry doc, eventually he'll grow on you." _Yeah, grow on you like a fungus._

"I'm not worried, I've dealt with worse people then that before." Dr. Andrews told Sam, leaving him to sit and wait for Dean's return.

The news finally delivered, Sam could sit and relax slightly now, only feeling half better. He'd feel completely at ease once he saw his brother with his own eyes. He'd only been sitting there for maybe all of five minutes when they'd brought him back in, sitting up with his arms crossed tight over his chest and a nasty scowl etched onto his face. Sam knew what that look meant, and tried to prepare himself for what was coming. Once they'd situated him back in his spot in the room and left, he let the words start to fly.

"Sam, I've been awake for all of what, three hours at most, and I'm already ready to kill myself. Do you know what they gave me to eat? Oatmeal and sugar-free lime Jello. What the hell is that? Sugar free? Come on, give me a break. May as well put that damn tube back in, at least I don't have to taste that shit! Sam, I want you to get me out of here, and I mean now! I don't want to spend another minute in this god forsaken place!"

The scowl on Dean's face getting harsher and harsher with every word that came from his mouth only made the smile on Sam's face spread wider and wider, until he actually started to laugh. Listening to Dean's tirade about hospitals that he was expressing with such zeal made him fully realize that his brother was back in all his obstinate glory. Sam couldn't be any happier then what he was at just that moment.

"Dean, did you notice the cast on your leg, you know, that thing there that goes from your foot to your hip? Or the one on your wrist that's crossed over your chest right now? I'm wondering if those crushed ribs you had are still sore, because I gotta tell you, I bet they are. And your back, well, that may be a little sore too. I'm not taking you out of here until they tell me I can, so unless you're ready to walk out of here on your own, I'm thinking you're staying just a little while longer," Sam smirked his answer, ready for the next barrage to come, fully prepared to take it.

"If that's the way you want it, then I'll just check myself out then. I want out of here Sam. I want real food, I want a crappy, lumpy motel bed, and I want to smell my damn car. Don't make me beg you Sammy."

"Too late big brother, you already are. God Dean, I don't think I've ever heard you whine so much. I tell you what, you get up from that bed and walk across the room, and I'll take you out of here tonight," Sam challenged.

"Yeah, I'd like to see that too," an unfamiliar voice called from the door as it's owner came fully into the room and sidled up to the bedside.

Dean and Sam both stared at her, wondering who the hell she thought she was barging into their room and forcing herself into their conversation. She was a petite thing, almost Dean's age, but the way she walked told both brothers that she meant business and wasn't going to take any bullshit. Blonde haired, steely blue eyed, and all of a hundred pounds, she stared at Dean, hands firmly planted on her hips as she waited for a response. Dean actually felt intimidated by her, so much so he couldn't really think of anything trademark to say. Sam watched the visual exchange between the two of them and decided to back off and let Dean fight his own battle.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean finally spit out, it being the only thing he could think of to say.

"I'm your new best friend Dean, or maybe your new worst enemy. You've been laying in that bed for five weeks totally immobile, do you really think you're going to just get up and stroll out of here? I don't think so. I'm here to work you like a dog and get you walking again, and you're probably going to hate me by the time we're done, but that's ok, everyone usually hates me in the end," she smiled at him in a no-nonsense sort of way, her body language telling Dean it would take a lot to get her goat.

"So, you're the physical torturer the told me they were sending, is that it?" Dean asked, knowing where this conversation was going.

"Physical therapist, not torturer."

"Same thing. I don't need your help, so thanks, but no thanks."

"You think so, huh? Let's just see then shall we?" She reached under the bed and cranked it down as low as it would go, then rounded to the other side to stand at the unbroken half of Dean's body. Tossing the blanket and sheet covering him to side and exposing his bare leg, she grabbed his foot and bent his leg inward in one quick motion, knowing if she'd pushed any harder his knee would be in his chest. Dean just stared at her with nothing but shock spread across his face, the pain it gave him in his back not even registering.

"Ok Dean, you push me away from you, I'll leave you be. Come on tough guy, let's see if you can move a little girl."

She mocked him as Sam stood a few feet away with his hands over his mouth, trying to hide the ear to ear grin he'd sported across his face ever since she'd opened her mouth and started challenging his brother. Dean looked even more pissed then he was when he first came back into the room, and with all the strength he had tried to kick her off him. She felt the force coming and braced her arms and legs to counter, her body not moving an inch in the opposite direction as Dean made a pathetic effort to push her away. He relaxed his body as she relaxed hers, but after a few short seconds and a few deep breaths, he tried again, this time not tensing up before he gave her his shove. She was quick though, her counter against his sneak attack sending her nowhere yet again. She dropped his foot in victory and let it fall back to the bed limply, hands immediately finding their place on her hips again and resting there as she stared Dean square in the eyes. His face turned red, either from anger or embarrassment, or both, but it really didn't matter. He'd lost, and lost big, because Sam had seen the whole thing.

"Now, if I may be allowed to introduce myself, I'm Julia Campbell, and I'll be your physical therapist. Any questions."

Sam finally stepped from the shadow he'd slunk himself into to laugh at his brother's expense and extended a hand in greeting to the ballsy woman. He felt like he finally had an ally in his war against Dean's will.

"Hi, I'm Sam, Dean's brother."

Taking the extended hand and shaking it firmly, she spoke back, ignoring Dean altogether. "Nice to meet you Sam. Would you mind leaving us alone for a little while? We have some things to do. Maybe an hour or two, depends on how cooperative Dean here is. What do you say Sam?"

"I say nice to meet you and see you later," he looked at her, then redirected his attention to Dean. "Have fun Dean," he chirped to him before he hastily made his escape, leaving Dean no time to respond.

Sam wandered down the hall with a slight spring in his step and a lingering chuckle in his head. He felt good for the first time in weeks, finally able to get some fresh air and actually enjoy it this time. Sam took full advantage of the time he'd been given, getting some real food to eat, finally doing some much needed laundry that had been sitting dirty in the Impala's trunk for weeks, and calling Bobby to tell him what was going on and hearing the much anticipated _'I told you so' _once and only once. No need to rub it in, he guessed. He'd been gone for almost three hours by the time he'd made it back, his eyes not really sure he was seeing what he was seeing when he entered the doorway.

He watched Dean from the door silently at first, the TV on but no sound coming through as Dean had opted for the headphones instead. He caught the last scene of the movie before the credits started to roll as Dean laid there, tissues in hand, crying like a baby. Sam walked in a little further, still studying him intently.

Hunter's instincts still fully intact, Dean saw him in his peripheral vision, but made no effort to hide his emotions. Pulling off the headphones and tossing them to the side, he looked at Sam in a way he'd never seen come across Dean's face before as Sam slowly came closer, finally face to face.

"Dude, you OK? Sam questioned, confusion evident in his voice.

"Hey Sam, you're back. You ever see this movie? It's called 'The Notebook', very sad," he sniffled and wiped his nose with the tissues he'd bunched up in his fist, his eyes red from the tears they'd shed.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my brother? In your entire life Dean you've never cried watching a movie, ever. And what ever happened to 'no chick flick moments'? That movie is the epitome of chick flicks, why the hell are you watching it?"

Dean straightened up in his bed, not quite sure how to answer Sam. He was right, he didn't do chick flicks, so why was he watching one now, and enjoying it? Flipping off the TV with the remote, he quickly tried changing the subject as he tossed the hand held device back down on the mattress.

"Dude, how could you leave me alone with Nurse Ratched? Do you have any idea what she did to me?" Dean whined, his voice not really coming out as his own.

"No I don't Dean, and I don't think I want to judging by the sound of your voice," Sam knew this was a feeble attempt by his brother to change the subject, and he let him have it, the whining in Dean's voice actually sounding like he meant it.

"Yeah, well, after she abused me to no end, they brought something called lunch. You know what that was? Some kind of mystery cream soup that was a color I can't even describe, a hard boiled egg, some toast, and a banana. What am I, some old man in a nursing home with no teeth? God Sam, if we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill more then myself." Dean ranted as Sam listened to every word his brother said.

"Quit complaining Dean, you're alive aren't you?" Sam knew that was a low blow, but he was really tired of hearing the complaining already. Dean hated being in hospitals, but this was getting a little ridiculous.

"Fine. I'm tired anyway. Can you close the blinds and turn off the lights. That sadomasochist therapist did me in anyway, and she's coming back tomorrow, oh joy!" Dean threw his good arm over his eyes and waited for Sam to turn off the lights. He really did just want to sleep, sick of hearing his own whine at this point.

"Are you sure you're alright Dean?" Sam asked him, somewhat concerned at the change in his brother's behavior. Maybe there was something wrong with his head.

"Yeah Sam, I'm good. Just let me sleep, thanks."

Sam did as his brother asked, closing the shades and turning off the lights, the room immediately falling into pitch darkness. He grabbed his laptop and left the room to let him sleep in peace, not feeling the need to watch Dean like a hawk anymore. He closed the door behind him and found a spot to squat and surf the web. Yeah, he felt pretty good right now, felt like he was actually living again.

Dean laid there in the dark, the silence in the room not as soothing as he thought it would be. He was tired, but he just couldn't make himself sleep. Close to drifting off a few times, he thought he heard voices that brought him back around, his ears scanning the room for where they may be coming from. He knew he was alone, but that didn't stop him from wondering who was talking. The voices must be coming from the hall or through the walls, because they weren't coming from his room. He started to drift off again, this time his mind swimming as his body started to stiffen. He jerked against the bed uncontrollably as another seizure struck him, the voice coming in loud and clear the instant it started, increasing in volume the more violent his jerking became.

"Dean, please, you have to help. There are two of us now, and more to come. Please, you have to stop him. I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but it's the only way I can communicate that you'll hear me. Please, you have to find the answer," she spoke in a hurried voice, not knowing how long she would be able to hold the communication.

"Who are you," Dean mentally choked out as his body contorted in every direction possible, it slowly starting to calm itself to just shaking as sweat heavily poured from him and settled against the sheets.

"Remember what you saw after the accident, you'll figure it out." she got out before the convulsions were finally over, her connection to his mind totally broken. He laid there utterly exhausted, his mind ready to fall into the deep sleep it so craved.

As his body was finally unable to take anymore abuse for the day, it shut itself off for the night, his eyes wandering towards the door that now had been lighted up somehow. He faintly saw the vision of a blonde woman that looked vaguely familiar standing there as she illuminated the corner with her own light and pierced him with her deep blue eyes before falling totally asleep, his mind trying to figure out where he'd seen her before


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As stated on my other stories, I apologize to anyone that left review that I didn't respond to. Some days, I just can't seem to get my sht together. Thanks to everyone that took the time to leave one, I really do appreciate it.

Chapter 6

Sam had been sitting in his little corner trolling around the internet for a couple of hours, not really finding anything of much interest as he was really just killing time. The last day had been a whirlwind of activity since he'd been startled awake by the first words his brother had spoken in weeks. He looked at his watch and tried to figure out just how long ago it had been exactly since that moment, and doing the math, realized it had been over seventeen hours after he'd only slept for a mere three hours before that. No wonder he was ready to drop at only seven o'clock in the evening.

He was about ready to shut down his computer and head in for the night himself as he was becoming increasingly unable to suppress one yawn after another, each one stretching his mouth further and further as it made it's escape from him when one of his brother's various doctors appeared before him.

"Hey Sam," the man greeted in a cheery tone with a smile on his face for the first time since he'd met him, the day he'd put all Dean's broken pieces back together and told him to just keep praying.

"Hey Dr. Horton, is something wrong?" Sam looked at him, not seeing any bad news written on the man's face. He was pretty familiar with that look, but right now, it just wasn't there.

"No, nothing. I just wanted to talk to you before I went home for the evening to let you know I heard about what happened last night, or rather early this morning, and took the liberty of having some x-rays taken while all the other tests were being run. Everything appears to be healing quite nicely and he should be out of that cast in a couple weeks. Now that he's awake and alert, we'll probably be able to release him soon. Julia will continue to work with him everyday while he's here to build his other muscles back up, but once that cast comes off he's going to need some pretty extensive therapy on his leg. I'm telling you this because I really want him to continue his therapy once he's discharged and not attempt to do it on his own. He could do more harm then good if he doesn't do it right, which could make the damage permanent, and judging by what Julia told me, I don't think he's planning on setting foot anywhere near this place once we let him out. Besides, it's all paid for anyway, so why not?"

Sam took in everything the doctor told him, each and every point being made describing his brother perfectly. Dean **would** try to rehab himself, probably while they were on the road somewhere or, more then likely, at Bobby's. He would never allow anyone else to help him; it just wasn't in his nature. Sam knew he'd have to make the decisions for Dean and make damn sure he knew they were not negotiable.

"Don't worry Dr. Horton, I'll make sure he continues his rehab here. Dean will do what's necessary, whether he likes it or not."

"Good. Julia will be happy to hear that. She is our resident 'pit-bull' and is looking forward to the challenge. We give her all the difficult cases because of it."

"Yeah, I gathered that when we met her. I'm sure she'll do a great job," Sam smirked. If their previous encounter was any indication, Dean will have most definitely met his match.

"She'll get him on his feet in no time. Good evening Sam, it was nice to give you good news for a change." The doctor shook Sam's hand before leaving for the night, giving him something new to think about now.

If Dean was released, they would need a place to stay, other then a crappy motel with hard, lumpy beds that will rent rooms by the hour when necessary, just to please their diverse clientele. He thought about looking for a place online since he was sitting there with Google already glaring at him and waiting for his command, but decided he was just too damn tired after a long and busy day. He shut the computer down and clicked the lid shut, tucking it under his arm as he stood to go back to the room they shared, pretty sure Dean had to be sound asleep by now. He really had looked exhausted too, after the day he'd had, and for him to even tell Sam he was tired spoke volumes.

He hesitated just outside the door as he grabbed the handle and pulled, opening it slowly and trying not to make a sound as he entered the pitch-dark room. He left the door open enough to let in the light he'd need from the hallway to make it to the other side without walking into everything in-between as he went, which would disturb everyone that was trying to sleep at the moment in the whole building, not just Dean. He crossed the room silently, pausing at Dean's bedside to make absolutely sure he was fully asleep before he turned on his own bedside light. Sam wasn't sure how he'd done it, but somehow Dean had turned onto his side in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position from where Sam stood as his eyes were fixed on the back of his brother's head. His leg in the cast was propped up on it's usual pillows, but now twisted at an odd angle as his other leg was somehow sticking out almost behind it and bent at the knee, making him look like he was doing some macabre Emily Rose in church impersonation. Standing totally still in the barely lit room, he listened to what he knew should have been the deep, rhythmic breaths of sleep, but actually heard heavy, labored breathing coming hard and fast instead.

Taking the final few steps to the bedside, he saw Dean had somehow also grasped hold of the raised bedrail and pulled himself as close to the edge of the bed as his broken leg would allow, wrapping his arm around the railing tight and holding on to it for dear life. His face hung over the side as the rest of his body was twisted up in his blanket, leaving him half covered/half exposed and shivering slightly. Hearing the way he was breathing told Sam that something was wrong in a big way.

"Dean," he whispered next to his ear as he laid a hand softly against his back, fully expecting him to jerk away and bark some expletives about his personal space. The reaction he got was anything but that, Dean instead pressing his body harder against the touch. Sam could feel him shaking, instantly sending a whole new wave of concern through him.

"Ohhhh, I don't feel so good Sam, " Dean let out in a groan, his voice coming out louder with each word as Sam felt every muscle in Dean's shoulders and back tense in preparation for the heaving he was sure was coming.

Dean's stomach clenched up tight as a series of retching started and Sam realized this was not the first bout of vomiting his brother had had this evening. No, his stomach was already empty, it's contents probably on the floor on the other side of the bed right now. Sam rubbed his brother's back as he continued to throw up something that wasn't there until it finally realized nothing was going to come out and started to relax slightly. Sam felt it and grabbed Dean's shoulder, speaking to him in as calm a voice as he could get out.

"Just relax Dean, close your eyes so I can turn on the light."

"They are closed Sam," Dean choked out, his voice much louder then he'd meant it to be.

Sam reached above the bed and slowly lit up the room enough to see the unnatural shade of green his brother's face had become as he held his eyes shut tight, the grimace spread across his face filling Sam's heart with an overwhelming sense of pity for Dean. '_God, hasn't he been through enough yet?' _he thought.

"Can you roll over Dean?" Sam asked, tugging gently on his arm in an attempt to lay him flat. Dean released his death-grip on the railing and let Sam roll him onto his back, making no effort to either help or resist. As Sam turned his upper body, Dean's good leg got jammed under his broken one when his hips didn't turn with the rest of him, eliciting a tortured cry as a sharp pain shot up his back. Dean didn't really know the full extent of all his injuries yet, but he was figuring them out one by one as they all made themselves known.

"STOP!" He screamed unnecessarily, since Sam had stopped moving him the instant the yelp escaped his lip. "My leg's stuck."

Sam saw what his brother was talking about as he looked at the leg pinned under the upper half of the cast and twisted in such a weird way that he was almost laying on his stomach and just didn't have the muscle strength to turn himself back over. Sam let go of Dean's shoulder and positioned himself at the other side of the bed, grabbing Dean's leg at the knee with both hands and carefully pulled it out until his brother's hips were straight and his upper body fell flat on the mattress.

Finally on his back and untwisted, he let out the breath he'd been holding since the sharp jolt shot through him from Sam's attempted correction of his body position. Sam unraveled the blanket and spread it out over Dean's body when he saw him shiver occasionally, not necessarily from the cold but from something else entirely. Looking down to the floor, he saw he'd been right in his earlier observation, thankful Dean had at least gotten himself turned over before he'd actually brought up what the nurses had called lunch. Sam reached for the call button but never go a chance to use it as Dean wrapped his hand around it and prevented him from summoning assistance.

"I'm ok Sam, don't call them," he begged, knowing full well what would happen if Sam did, and not wanting to explain what has just happened.

"Dean, you just threw up down the side of your bed and all over the floor. I have to call someone to clean it up, and clean YOU up," Sam told his brother, wondering exactly who Dean thought would be mopping up the mess. It didn't matter what Dean wanted anyway, because someone else made the decision for him.

"Everything alright in here?" A questioning voice asked from the doorway as a nurse stuck her head inside somewhat tentatively. Both brothers answered at the same time, but not in unison. A "NO" from Sam and a "YES" from Dean and she was in the room and at the bedside instantly, already sizing up the situation and attempting to check on the condition of her patient.

Sam decided he better do the talking because Dean had already started fuming. He was pretty sure anything that would come from his brother's mouth right now would be as nasty as the mess on the floor as the green in his face was being replaced by an interesting shade of red.

"I don't think my brother feels very well," he started to tell her, but unfortunately for them, Dean decided to express his feeling himself, not bothering to let Sam finish.

"Thanks Captain Obvious, I think she could have figured that one out for herself though. Tell me something, is it the same color as that crap you called soup earlier? I'd be willing to bet if you scooped it up into a bowl it would look exactly the same way it did when you served it to me luke-warm and expected me to eat it. Shit, my stomach was turning just trying to swallow that crap," Dean spewed out his anger at both Sam and the poor nurse that was just trying help. Dean knew what had made him so sick, but if Sam didn't know, he wasn't telling him. _'Blame it on the food, he'll believe that' _he figured.

"Dean, would you please let her do her job. Don't take it out on her," Sam almost ordered his brother, staring him down and telling him with his eyes to just cut the crap now and quit prolonging the inevitable. Dean heard him loud and clear, letting his body go limp and fixing his eyes on the ceiling as the nurse did what she needed to do. She finished quickly and excused herself, telling them both she'd be right back.

"Dean, what happened? You were alright when I left, weren't you?" Sam asked, needing to know.

"I just got sick Sam, that's all. It happens when you eat the garbage they give you here," he answered, needing to shift the blame away from what the real cause had been.

"I have eaten the garbage they give you here Dean, it didn't make me sick," Sam responded to his brother's pitiful excuse as his brow started to furrow, his internal 'Dean Bullshit Detector' kicking fully in. He knew that tone of voice, it was the one that came out when Dean was trying to hide something.

"Yeah, well, eat that crap after you've been Sleeping Beauty for five weeks and your stomach is totally unprepared for an assault of that magnitude," he whined, probably for the hundredth time today.

Another thought crossed Sam's mind and he fully intended on getting an answer that actually sounded like the truth from Dean.

"How did you get so twisted up in your blanket Dean? And how did you get your legs and hips so turned around? You couldn't have twisted yourself up like that since you didn't have the strength to right yourself after," the suspicion was obvious in Sam's voice now and Dean knew he wasn't buying what he was selling.

"Well, I must have when I started getting sick, and I didn't exactly want to puke on myself," he explained what he thought would be simple logic. Dean was running out of excuses and thanked his lucky stars when the nurse came back in with two others, saving him from himself.

"Sam, would you mind waiting outside while we take care of things in here?" She told him, in a nicely asking sort of way, of course.

"Yeah Sam, wait outside will ya? Looks like it's sponge bath time!" Somehow it sounded like a better idea then Dean really thought it was, but if it got rid of Sam for the moment, he'd let them soak him in battery acid right now.

"Fine, but we will continue this later," Sam left as requested, grabbing his laptop as he went and trying to remember when he'd dropped in at the foot of Dean's bed in the first place. Dean was lying, and hiding something, and he knew it, and somehow he was going to call him on it.

He found himself right back where he'd been only minutes before, doing exactly what he'd been doing as if the last ten minutes had all been a hallucination. If he was tired before, he was totally spent now, and instead of booting up his computer, he just leaned his head back against the wall and let his heavy eyes close. He dozed off peacefully until he was shaken awake by the poor nurse that had taken the brunt of Dean's anger.

"Sam, wake up. We're done. Why don't you go back in there and get some sleep?"

Sam didn't need to be told twice and marched back into the room, ready to continue his inquisition. That was more important then sleep at the moment. He stopped short when he looked at his brother, his appearance a stark contrast to the one he'd seen last. With his lower lip stuck out far enough for birds to use a perch, he looked like a little kid that had his favorite toy ripped from his hands and stomped on under the schoolyards bully's foot.

"You feel better?" He started with, waiting for the trademark _'I'm fine'_. It's not what he got.

"Sam, why did you have to tell her I got sick? She went and called the doctor when she left, did you know that? She told him I threw up and that my blood pressure was too high. I just got rid of this damn IV and now they went and stuck it back in. Why couldn't you just keep your big mouth shut?" Dean ranted, tears welling in his eyes and streaming down his face as he began, escalating to an emotionally-charged free flow by the time he'd finished. Tears rolled as Dean tried to take in breaths, his chest hitching with each attempt at breathing he made.

Sam was dumbstruck. He had NEVER seen his brother crumble into an emotional wreck before, and he really didn't know what to say. Then it hit him. He was going to get his answers now. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and decided to go to town and see just how far he could get.

"I'm really sorry Dean. Can you tell me what happened?" Sam asked in a comforting parent-like voice, not wanting to startle Dean back into the reality that he was a man just yet.

"I don't want to talk about it Sam," he spit out between breaths, head hung low as the tears starting to ebb, but with the emotions still there, just waiting for another trigger to set them off again.

"Dean, look at me," Sam reached for his brother's chin and turned up his face to meet his, "Did you have another seizure, it that how you got all twisted up like that?" There, he'd said it, the question being on the back of his mind since he walked out of the room earlier.

Just when he thought he had the tears under control, they welled up again and made their way down his face right behind the last flood. He had no idea where they were coming from and no idea how to stop them. "How did you know Sam?" _'God, I'm such a woman' _he thought.

He knew it! Somehow Sam knew Dean was hiding something and was desperate that nobody find out. He would have gotten away with it too, if he hadn't polished the floor with his stomach contents.

"Lucky guess. You know we need to tell the doctor, don't you?"

"NO SAM! YOU CAN'T!" he cried, almost sounding panicked. Sam new he had to get this situation under control now, before Dean started hyperventilating. He sat next to his brother on the edge of the bed and put a comforting arm around him in an effort to calm him down. It worked, almost instantly.

"Dude, get off me," he barked, eyes drying up the second he realized Sam was about to hug him as he shoved him away. Whatever it was that put a stranglehold over his emotions had just been broken as his head finally cleared itself so he could actually think. His breathing evened out as a feeling of normalcy finally came back to him, and now he needed to figure out what the hell was going on here.

Removing his ass from the bed at the quick shove he'd been given, Sam stood and looked his brother's in the red, puffy eyes as he, too, tried to figure out what the hell was going on. "Ok Dean, spill it. Why should I not tell the doctor about the seizure?" Sam tapped his foot on the floor impatiently, fully expecting this answer to be really good.

Dean bit his lip as his mind tried to bring up the memory he knew was there, the memory of the seizure actually fresh in his mind still. He remembered the voice, the woman's voice, telling him something, but it was still foggy. He pondered it for a few long seconds, then it finally came to him like someone had turned on the light bulb in his head. Memories started dancing around in there, some vivid, some still vague, but all still there.

"Because I don't think their seizures Sam. Someone's trying to tell me something. Give me the computer, will you?"

Sam's foot continued it's tapping on the floor as he stared at his brother, wondering what kind of scheme he was hatching to get out of this one. He huffed loudly, but handed it over silently and watched Dean boot it up and start looking through his brother's bookmarks, knowing he'd find exactly the one he was looking for. It didn't take long as his eyes fell on the newspaper article that had hit the front page of the local rag the day after the accident. The headline was bold, and explained a lot in just one short sentence.

**FATAL CRASH KILLS SOCIALITE, CRITICALLY INJURES ANOTHER**

Dean scrolled down through the article, not wanting to read the gory details but satisfied to see his name had been kept out of it, at least for now. He stopped at the picture of the woman that had been driving, the woman that had almost killed him, and immediately held his breath. He knew her, he had seen her in the corner after the last seizure he'd had. He had also seen her in the street after the accident, as she held onto him for dear life. That was her, and she was dead, but somehow, she was haunting him. What was it she had said, _'There are two of us now'. _What was that supposed to mean? She also said _'Remember what you saw after the accident'. _What had he seen after the accident, besides her in the street clinging to him like a scared child. He couldn't remember, but he knew he had to try.

"Care to share what's flopping around in that head of yours big brother?" Sam asked, mildly annoyed, but curious. He could tell by the look on Dean's face that he wasn't trying to make up a line of bullshit anymore.

"That woman, Trish Waterson, the one that hit me, I've seen her Sam. I saw her in the street when you said I was dead and I saw her in this room after the last… well… you know. She's haunting me somehow. She told me to remember what I saw after the accident. I saw her, and I think she was clinging onto me when they brought me back. Do you think I could have brought her back with me?" Dean was a little freaked at the prospect, but if it was the case, it was an easy fix. Salt and burn her, that should do it.

Sam was following Dean's train of thought right along with him, desperate for a reason his brother was having the seizures and still at a loss for the cause of the one blue eye Dean still didn't know he possessed. Yeah, he'd definitely save that piece of information for later, much later. It all seemed too easy, all made too much sense though, but maybe for a change it was. _Yeah, right,_ he thought, but didn't dare say.

"I guess it's possible. It would explain a lot. She was an epileptic, maybe she induces the seizures in you to communicate with you. Maybe she just wants to be put to rest."  
"Maybe we need to go salt and burn her ass so she'll get out of me and leave me alone," Dean matter-of-factly told Sam, fully intending on dragging himself from his bed and doing it himself if he had to.

"What do you mean, WE? You aren't going anywhere. I'll check out the place in morning and when Bobby gets back, we'll take care of it. In the meantime, you just stay put," Sam's mind was moving too, praying that Dean was right. "Right now, I suggest we both get some sleep, because I'm too damn tired right now to do anything else."

"Yeah, me too." Dean let his eyes drift closed as Sam turned off the light, both men hoping for an uneventful night.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

As exhausted as he was from the traumas of the day, Dean laid in his bed in a half-sleep state as he listened to the sounds of his brother's light snore and smiled at the thought of Sam actually getting a good nights sleep. From what little he knew of the last five weeks, he imagined that for Sam, those had been few and far between. Sam's sounds of sleep were almost hypnotic as Dean focused his hearing on them, it being the only thing containing the brewing migraine in the back of his head. He'd felt it starting earlier, not long before Sam had walked in on him expelling his lunch all over the floor, but had been able to keep it at bay, the nurses making it a whole lot easier when they'd shot him up with something to calm him down. Stifled but still lingering, it made it's return as his body had seemingly metabolized out the whole dose they'd administered, the drugs being the only thing that had been holding it back anymore as it now had free reign in his brain.

He felt it creeping in behind his eyes first, noticing it as he focused on the images displayed on the laptop screen, it's brightness still making his eyes ache even though he hadn't seen it in hours. Even in the darkness of the room, when he tried to open his eyes the pain reverberated through his head and he knew it was better to just keep the lids shut.

His eyes fully assaulted now, he started to realize just how nauseous he still was and desperately wanted to change positions to at least lay on his side. He was so sick of being on his back and was pretty sure it was just making the queasiness worse. He didn't dare move though, because the instant he did he'd wake up Sam, and he really wanted his brother to sleep. So, he just laid there in misery and listened to Sam snore, it's rhythm helping drown out the loud buzzing only he could hear that was trying to overtake him through his ears.

He heard the voice break into his concentration, that voice he was all too familiar with as she spoke to him through his pained haze.

"Dean, I know you can hear me. I need you to remember more, more from that night. Please try to remember everything you saw, not just me. It's so important, only you can help us. Please remember," she begged him to listen to her, the voice trapped inside his head with him, the begging for more then release falling on deaf ears.

He was becoming restless and started tossing and turning, hoping he could somehow physically push her out of his mind as he fought to ignore her, not wanting to hear her anymore. She'd already tortured him enough and wasn't all of this her fault in the first place? She was the one that ran him down on the dark highway when she'd decided to get behind the wheel, killing herself and almost killing him, only to have her spirit piggy-back itself into him and take up residence somewhere inside his head as she added to the living hell she'd already made. She somehow sensed his thoughts and knew he still wasn't seeing the big picture, so she just kept trying to convince him that there was a lot more to it then just that.

"No Dean, it wasn't my fault. I was a victim too, just as much as you. Why can't you remember what you saw, the first thing you saw, even before you saw me? Before everything? Would you please just try?" She sounded desperate now, sensing the rising fight in him gaining ground.

His tossing and turning now becoming almost full thrashing, he clutched his head in his hands and started retaliating against her, wanting more then anything for her to just be gone.

"Get out of my head, damn you," he groaned over and over, and not quietly either, the cries instantly waking Sam the second they hit the air. He was across the room in a few short steps, clasping his hands around his brother's arms and trying to pull them from his pained face as he threw his head from side to side in an effort to stop the voice he was hearing.

"Dean, stop it before you hurt yourself!" Sam bellowed at him, the sound of his voice slightly calming Dean's thrashing as it slowly penetrated his head. "Dean, open your eyes and look at me!" He yelled again, this time finally seeming to get all the way through to him.

His arms went limp as his body calmed, the sound of Sam's voice finally silencing her for the time being. Dean opened his eyes to look at Sam, but the instant he did immediately regretted it when the light Sam had turned on shot through each eyeball and lanced straight through his brain like a hot knife through butter, bouncing off the back of his skull and ricocheting around in all different directions in perpetual motion.

This brought out another groan, this one a pained moan as he squeezed his eyes back shut and now had the overwhelming need to roll over and get off his back before quite possibly choking on his own bile, since his stomach was pretty much empty now. Raising his arm and swinging it over himself, he attempted to roll his body over with almost no success. Sam could see what he was trying to do and started helping him, not wanting the results to be the same as the last time Dean tried laying on his side.

"I'll get your legs if you can turn your shoulders," Sam told him, already moving towards the foot of the bed. Sliding one hand under his brother's lower back, he lifted his good leg up with the other hand and slowly turned Dean until he was rolled onto his hip, resting his leg half bent back down on the mattress over the other. Dean did his part as well, turning his upper body enough for his back to be off the bed as he now laid fully on his side, somewhat quelling the sick feeling in his stomach. Sam went to his own bed and grabbed his pillows, strategically placing one under Dean's bent leg for support and wedging the other behind his back to stop him from rolling back down.

Hearing Dean's breathing finally slowing to normal, Sam rested his hand on his brother's shoulder and started his expected questioning. "You alright now?"

Without ever opening his eyes, he gave his usual answer, the one Sam knew he was going to hear. "Yeah, I'm good," he lied as the knives slicing through his brain continued their dicing, his stomach somewhat rolling as the effort to speak was put forth.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Sam asked, even though he though he already knew.

"Just a little pillow talk before I get screwed Sammy, that's all."

"Not funny dude. What did she say this time?"

"More of the same. You'd think she'd get some new material by now, huh?"

"Well, at least she didn't put you into seizure mode this time," Sam observed, thankful himself for the change in her method of contact.

"No, but I think I prefer that to the headache she just amplified past ten and upped to eleven before she left," he spoke back, the pain obvious in his voice.

Sam knew he was in a world of hurt and decided that summoning a nurse and getting him something to ease his pain and help him sleep would be well worth the wrath he'd incur later. Pressing the call button, he waited patiently for one of the nurses to show, which one did in just a few short moments. He explained to her what had happened, leaving out the parts that would probably get them both locked up in the psyche ward, and basically told her he now had a migraine. She shook her head and left, promising to be right back.

"What the hell did you go and do that for Sam?" Dean asked him, the annoyance in his voice hiding the gratuity in his thoughts.

"Because you're in pain and you don't need to be, and you need to rest, which you won't do unless you're forced to, that's why," he told him, only stating the facts as he saw them.

"Whatever dude," was as close to a thank-you as Sam would get, and he would gladly take it, knowing Dean knew he was right. "You know Sam, we could just go salt and burn her now and get it all over with tonight."

"Don't worry man, I'll take care of it," Sam promised, not wanting to see anymore helplessness from his brother any more then Dean wanted to see it in himself. They'd both seen enough in the last twenty four hours to last a lifetime.

"I know you will," he mumbled.

Dean was back to being half in/half out and only vaguely aware of what was going on around him by the time the nurse came back with whatever concoction was on the menu as the special drug of the day today, his head finally feeling some relief as she pushed the drugs into his vein. Sam stood at his side and watched as the deep furrows in his brow started to smooth and relax, his eyelids no longer pinched tightly together as he appeared to have fallen mercifully into a deep sleep. Sam couldn't help but wonder what was really going on and with all of his senses fully awake and aware now, he knew he'd never get back to sleep and decided now was as good a time as any to get started since the sooner he did, the sooner this nightmare would be over for both of them.

He plopped himself back down on his own bed and rested his back against the wall as he sat his computer on his lap and watched mindlessly as it booted up and connected to the internet. He started by reading the article he'd bookmarked weeks ago for about the hundredth time, not sure why he wanted to read it again since he could probably recite it out loud word for word from memory anyway. He'd never bothered to dig any deeper into the woman that had nearly killed Dean, not really caring now that she was dead herself. He guessed now he would have to, since she'd decided to live rent-free his brother's body on a day to day basis.

His Google search yielded more information then he thought it would, not for a moment having the slightest clue as to who she had been but realizing now why their expenses were all being so generously taken care of. Trish Waterson had been the only daughter of Robert Waterson, the patriarch of the richest, most powerful family in the county, and his wife Elizabeth, heir to a small fortune of her own. Their estate sat right on the shore of Lake Geneva's most valuable section of real estate, it originally being the family home but now only being used off and on over the last few years as the seasons warranted. Had he and Dean been walking down that dark stretch of road a month later, none of this probably would have happened as the Watersons would have been long gone, probably sunning themselves on some Florida beach with their damn daughter by their side. '_Go figure, just our luck_,' Sam thought.

She'd been born and raised here along with her brother, actually attending public schools where she'd been head of the cheerleading squad, becoming homecoming and prom queens and student president until she graduated high school as class valedictorian five years ago. That was when the seizures had started unexplainably, doctor after doctor her parents dragged her to coming up with the same diagnosis. She dropped out of college and just followed her parents everywhere they went, the binds of school and a real life no longer limiting them to just their small Wisconsin town anymore. They'd return every now and then for a few weeks at a time, only to jet away again when they'd get bored and always leaving for warmer climates when the harsh Wisconsin winters hit. "_Yeah, right, it's Lake Geneva. Like the winter's are so harsh there. I guess when you're rich and pampered, any winter below 50 degrees is harsh,'_ Sam thought again, picturing the whole family to be nothing but a bunch of snobs.

Sam wasn't the least bit surprised to see that she seemed like a spoiled brat either, which would explain why she was relentlessly dogging Dean right now. She was obviously begging for attention, even in death. Further investigation told Sam that after her death, she'd been buried in the family plot along with three generations of Watersons before her right there in Lake Geneva. Shortly afterwards, the family retreated to their home in Arizona to mourn. _"Tough life'_, he thought again to himself, not really sure where the uncharacteristic bitterness was coming from, but not really caring either. He thought he should be grateful for the excellent care his brother had been given, but then again, didn't they owe it to them for letting her do what she did?

Refocusing his thoughts back to the cemetery, he thought _'Good, nobody to get in the way when I salt and burn your ass. In and out quick and no one will even know I was ever there.'_ He didn't even think he'd need to wait for Bobby, figuring he could take care of it himself. He would too, because Bobby or no Bobby, he was going to take care of this tonight.

Stealing a glance in his brother's direction, he was relieved to see him sleeping peacefully, the thought that just over twenty-four hours ago he'd have given his right arm to wake his brother from the same condition, but now just wanting him to sleep through the night. '_What a difference a day makes' _ran through his head as he grabbed his phone and snuck out of the room as quietly as possible. He figured that after the drugs they'd given Dean a little while ago he'd be able to sleep through Metallica giving a live performance in the room but having to be quiet reassured him that he **could** wake Dean up if he tried hard enough.

Flipping open his phone once he was out in the hallway and noting the time, he decided to call Bobby anyway, really wanting to know where the man was and how long it would be before he got there. He dialed and listened, jumping slightly when he answered, the irritated voice he got in response being exactly what he was expecting but just not quite prepared for yet.

"Sam, did you suddenly change time zones and forget which one you were in? You do know what time it is, don't you?" Bobby tried his best to sound annoyed, but it was really concern he felt because Sam would not call at three a.m. unless he absolutely knew it was for a really good reason.

"I'm sorry Bobby, I know it's early, or late, however you want to look at it, but we have a problem here, and I think I'm going to need your help," Sam told him, his tone of voice not as grave as the older man had expected, but worried nonetheless.

"What kind of problem Sam?" He queried, his curiosity peaked.

Sam proceeded to tell him everything that had happened since they had spoken last, giving him as much detail as quickly as he possibly could, pausing briefly to let Bobby's fit of laughter pass when Sam told him about the whining, weeping mess Dean had turned into earlier this evening. It wasn't that it was funny, but picturing it from Dean, well, yeah, it was funny. As Sam spoke more, Bobby started to formulate an opinion in his head, and when Sam was finally finished and had given his own take on the situation, he took just a few seconds to respond, knowing they were both thinking the same thing.

"If I head out now, I can be there by dark. You gonna be ready to do this when I get there?"

"Hell Bobby, I'm ready to do this now but Dean would kill me if I went commando."

"I'll take that as a yes then. I'm on my way Sam, just sit tight and hold that box of Puffs Plus for your brother just in case he gets all emo again," he told Sam as he hung up, putting a huge grin on Sam's face.

Still hours until sunrise, Sam snuck back into the room and spread himself out on his bed, hands firmly tucked under his head and clasped together as his eyes fixed themselves on an imaginary spot on the ceiling since it was too dark to see the real thing. He blanked his mind and just listened to the silence of the room as he ran through his plans. He'd check out the cemetery early, hopefully before Dean woke, then wait for Bobby to do the actual deed. He'd stay with Dean all day on guard duty just in case, because his brother was right about one thing for sure, they needed to keep the seizures a secret. He tossed the thoughts back and forth until his eyes finally closed, sending him back to sleep where he belonged.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam hadn't slept long as his eyes opened to the faint ray of light filtering into the room through the slit at the bottom of the shades covering the windows. Checking the time, he yawned and stretched as he determined seven a.m. was an acceptable time of the day to go scoping out a cemetery, because didn't everyone hang out in graveyards for amusement in the wee hours of the morning? It was six now, and by the time he grabbed something to eat and coffee and actually drove his ass out there, it would be well after seven. Throwing on a jacket and shoes, he checked on his brother and, seeing that he hadn't moved not one inch since he'd finally fallen asleep, he snuck out of the room again to begin his recon.

Jumping in the car and firing it up, he decided fast food would have to do for now, one of the few benefits of their current situation being the fact that at least Sam wasn't eating at the greasiest, shittiest diners Dean could find for a few weeks. How his brother lived on that crap he'd never know. He pulled into the first drive-thru he saw, it unfortunately being one of those fast food chain places that made an egg sandwich any which way you wanted with some form of dead pig on top and covered in cheese nestled between two either hard or flaky pieces of bakery good. Side that with a healthy order of greasy tater-tots in a wet paper bag and wash it down with some hot, strong coffee and he had the makings of a day full of indigestion and heart burn. Dean would be so envious right now.

Food in lap and coffee in the holder, he drove off east, heading to the tourist trap of the Midwest, or maybe that was the Dells, he wasn't sure as he didn't give a rats ass about either one. He pushed the car hard and fast, wanting to get there and back in as little time as possible. Dean had been sleeping for almost four hours and he wasn't sure how much longer Little Miss Sunshine would let him rest before dinging the bell for the next round of brain sparring, drugs or no drugs. For a drive that should have taken at least forty-five minutes, he made it there in forty, including the stop for the lump of what looked like food now sitting in the bottom of his stomach as his body seemingly refused to digest it.

The cemetery had been easy to find, and as he parked along the street a block away he noticed it had no fence around it to hinder his entrance or escape. That was good. The other thing he noticed is that it was small and close to the street. That was bad. Traipsing inside, he walked up and down each row in search of her headstone, noticing that almost each and everyone bore the same last name, but he breathed a small sigh of relief when he finally spotted it at the back of the farthest row from the street. That was good. Unfortunately, it was right under a floodlight that turned on at the first sign of motion. That was bad. He casually walked back to the car and rummaged through the trunk for the only thing he knew he had that he could break that light with without being heard and after a few long moments of searching, finally found it at the bottom of the weapons stash where it had obviously been hiding for quite some time. Dean had made it himself and given it to him for his ninth birthday, and Sam couldn't believe he still had it in there, but knew he did when he had seen it months ago, meaning to unbury it and maybe use it sometime, if only for his own amusement.

Wrapping the slingshot around his wrist, he searched the ground for some oversized rocks to use as projectiles. He had to wipe out that light before he and Bobby came back tonight because they would need it as dark as possible. There was little to no traffic on the street in the daytime and Sam assumed it would be the same in the dead of night, but there was no sense in taking stupid chances. Finding nothing on the ground big enough to shoot, he dug through the trunk once again, this time pulling out a few regular every-day bullets that wouldn't kill anything not of this world. Slamming the trunk closed again, he scanned the area for anyone that may be watching him as he nonchalantly made his way back to the far corner of the graveyard. Taking careful aim, he drew back the loaded pocket as far as he could, stretching the rubber bands as tight as possible in the hopes of generating enough force to shatter the bulb. The light in his sight, he let the bullet fly, striking the lamp dead on and shattering the glass on his first shot, knowing he would have made Dean proud. Training his eyes up the sky, he casually walked back to the car, got in, and drove away, heading back west, never once seeing the man that had been silently watching him from across the street in the bushes the whole time.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He watched curiously as the dark haired, mop topped young man casually strolled through the small graveyard seemingly without a care in the world, walking up and down row after row of burial plots until he finally came to a stop at the headstone that garnered his own interest, and watched him looking around as he walked back to his car, which he'd suspiciously parked a block away and started rummaging through the trunk, obviously up to no good. He could tell by the look on the kids face that he meant trouble, and knew he was right when he popped back into view, strolling back inside and shooting out the floodlight with his childish weapon like the vandal he thought the punk to be. Figuring him to be some stupid fraternity pledge with something to prove or an order to follow, he just crouched in the bushes and waited patiently for him to leave.

Watching as he got back into the old, black beast of a car he'd gotten there in and took off like there was going to be no tomorrow for him, he finally stood, his legs numb from the squatting stance he'd been in the entire time the kid had been roaming around the cemetery looking for only god knows what. He tried shaking the feeling back into his legs unsuccessfully, and just decided to wait until the pins and needles that had already started jabbing at him finally worked their way out and he could walk like a person again and not like a caveman.

With the feeling finally returned to his limbs, he emerged from the bushes onto the quiet street, it having really nothing but the small graveyard and a few select houses that were spread relatively far apart, all owned by a Waterson of some kind. Hell, the cemetery was pretty much theirs too, the only non-blood Waterson bodies buried in it bound to them by marriage only, one way or another. After looking both ways carefully, he crossed the street quickly, and made his way directly to the plot of his choice, not needing to search for it. No, he knew right where it was, he'd been there when they'd put her in the ground all those weeks ago. As a matter of fact, he'd been the one to put her in the ground in the first place.

As he stared at the name on the stone slab in front of him, he thought back to that fateful night, it filling his heart with sadness and excitement all at the same time, irrevocably changing his life forever. He hadn't meant to kill her, not really. He did love her after all, but she was so whiny, so needy, and so irritating after she'd gotten sick, and the parents doting on her like she was the only thing in the world that existed to them made him sick himself. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally ill every time they were all together, it driving him to drink on a regular basis. They'd been at the family home for only a few weeks when the tensions finally reached the breaking point, her constant belittling of him and bickering with him finally causing him to break, and as his large, strong hands reached behind her head and grabbed a fistful of her long, blonde hair, he yanked it back with enough strength to pull a handful of it out, then drove it forward with all the force he had into the steering wheel of the car she'd come to pick his drunk ass up in from whichever bar he'd been in that night after he'd called, knowing she wasn't allowed to drive, but begging her come get him anyway. The shot to her head sending her mind into a darkened haze, he'd triggered a seizure in her with the trauma to her head, and as her body flailed in the drivers seat right before his eyes, he just watched and waited until it was over, feeling nothing but, well, nothing. He was so sick and tired of her he just didn't care anymore, and when the jerking had finally stopped, he'd grabbed her by the head once again and drove her chest into the wheel instead, hoping the motion would stop her heart and she'd just die. She never knew what hit her.

She didn't die though, she just started coughing up blood as her body started twitching again, not from a seizure but from something else altogether. Watching as she was slowly losing her life, he reached behind her one final time and drove her into the wheel with all the strength he had, finally ending her suffering, and his as well. Taking a few deep breaths, he looked at her limp, bloody form, and instead of feeling guilt and remorse, he felt excitement and exhilaration. Not only had he just killed her, he'd enjoyed killing her. It made him feel alive for the first time in his entire life to watch the life leave her body, knowing that he had been the one to take it, and he knew right then and there that he wanted, needed, to do it again.

It would have to wait though, because he knew he'd have to find a way to hide what he'd just done, the murderous act sobering him up fast as he worked through the plan he'd already thought up in his head. Climbing from the passenger side of the large, luxury sedan, he came around to the drivers side, opened the door, and slid her still bleeding corpse over enough for him to get behind the wheel, and as he situated himself on the seat, her head rolled to the side and laid itself against his shoulder. He liked the way it felt there, heavy and lifeless, lifeless because of him, and as he turned over the engine and took off down the road, he leaned his own head against the top of hers, smelling her hair mixed with blood for what he knew would be the last time, grateful to finally be rid of her.

He knew just what to do, and heading to the darkest, least used stretch of road at night he could think of, he pulled the car to the shoulder, killing the engine and getting out to climb back into the passenger seat. He shoved her back behind the wheel, her chest and face now fully covered in blood as it still trickled from her lips and started the engine back up, hands on the wheel and feet awkwardly depressing the brake as he put it into drive and slid his foot from the brake to the gas, the car jerking forward as he gave it just a little too much. It accelerated slowly at first, but the harder he pressed the pedal, the faster the vehicle went, it's weaving left and right uncontrollable from the position he was in. He had the car up over forty when he heard her moan, her body being not quite as dead as he thought it to be and decided to hit the next large tree he saw, never seeing the guy walking in the roadway until it was too late, hitting him and sending him flying through the air before he overcorrected the boat of a car and hit the oversized oak all the way on the other side of the highway. The airbag failing to deploy had been dumb luck, but the lack of a seatbelt had not been as her body flew forward into the steering wheel yet again, this time killing her without a doubt. Blood had flew from her lips as she bit through her tongue, a huge chunk of it falling into his lap as she finally, mercifully, unceremoniously died. His airbag and seatbelt had protected him, the lap belt in the center seat that he'd opted to buckle, just in case, stopping his forward motion enough to save him from any injury other then sore muscles and bones. He was pretty sure the alcohol had helped a little too, it's effects not as worn off as he previously thought they'd been.

He sat and stared at her now completely dead body as he let his somewhat drunken thoughts clear, her blood flow finally stopped, the crimson stains on her clothes a thing of beauty to him as they formed circular patterns on the fabric. He rummaged through the pockets of his jacket in search of his cell, finally finding it not in the coat but the pants, and flipped it open, activating the little camera inside and taking a quick snapshot of his crowning achievement. He looked at her lovingly one last time, noting the little piece of her that had fallen into his lap and morbidly tucking it into his pocket, wanting to keep just one, little memento of her to remember her by. He kissed her softly on the cheek before exiting the car as the sirens wailed in the distance, dropping to the hard ground and taking off into the woods for cover.

He watched transfixed as the scene unfolded before him while he hid behind the trees, the emergency crews roaring up to the carnage and scrambling in different directions. He had a good view from his hidden position and smiled as he saw them pull her lifeless body from behind the wheel, lay it on the pavement and try to unsuccessfully jolt some life back into it, finally breathing a sigh of relief when he'd seen them throw the sheet over her, then load her into the black bag, that being the only pronouncing of death he'd ever need. She was gone, and nobody would ever really know exactly how or why.

He could somewhat see what was going on across the street too, and after several very long minutes, he saw the ambulance take off down the road, lights flashing and siren blaring indicating to him that that poor sucker he'd hit wasn't dead, not yet anyway. He really didn't feel much emotion over that either, the idiot shouldn't have been walking down the dark road in the first place, and if he felt the need to walk in the street, he got what he deserved. Maybe, if time and opportunity warranted, he'd finish him off later too. '_Might be fun', _he'd thought, remembering the thrill he'd had just a little while before, and really wanting to feel it again. He also remembered how much he'd enjoyed the feel of the body bouncing off the front fender of the vehicle as he could almost feel the bones crunch inside as he hit the tree, and replayed that over and over in his mind as well. As his thoughts wandered back to the present, he knew that tying up that loose end would be out of the question though, as the condition of his other victim from that night went from grave, to critical, only to improve every day and now he'd even heard the guy was awake. That was ok, he'd amuse himself other ways, and in fact, he already had.

Brushing his fingers over the raised letters of the headstone, he kissed the fingers of his other hand and gave the stone a gentle pat as he dropped the single pink rose he'd brought with him on the ground at the base, and turned to leave. He walked back to his own car, which he himself had suspiciously parked a block away in the other direction, and climbed behind the wheel, turning to check the back seat. Throwing back the blanket that had been spread out across the seat and floor, he watch in awe at the sight of the beautiful blonde woman wedged between the back of his seat and the seats in the back. She was bound and gagged, but unnecessarily as she'd been unconscious since he'd decided to take her, his need to relive that night once again unable to resist.

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Sam's driving at near lightning speed to get back to the hospital had been absolutely unnecessary as his two hour absence had gone totally unnoticed by everyone, his brother still sleeping completely undisturbed by anyone by the time he had returned. In fact, Dean's sleep had been so sound, he still hadn't moved from the position he'd been in most of the night, and Sam was glad to see it, although the occasional twitch of an eye or crinkle of his forehead made Sam wonder if he should try to wake him from whatever was going on in his head or just let him sleep. He figured as long as nothing got too out of control, he'd leave Dean be for now.

He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over the back of the chair in the corner of the room and plopped himself down on his bed as he ran his mind through the plan he'd thought up for the day. One way or another, he needed to keep everyone out of this room until he and Bobby could finish what the now very dead Trish Waterson had unwittingly started. Even if she decided to grace Dean with her presence once again today, at least nobody would be around to see it, and once they took care of her, he was pretty sure it wouldn't be an issue anymore, and Dean could recuperate in peace, at least he hoped that to be the case. He stared at the ceiling as he thought, the dim light in the room from the partially uncovered windows the only thing keeping his eyes open now as he realized he was just a little tired and maybe now would be a good time to get a little sleep. Dean would probably be out for a while still, drugs just have that effect on people sometimes. He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, much needed sleep coming to him easily as he drifted away.

The noise from the hallway woke Sam not long after he'd fallen into that light sleep, the morning delivery of his brother's breakfast being quietly placed on the bedside tray when it was noticed that Dean was still out like a light. Sam rose from comfortable position he'd been in and wondered if he'd ever be allowed to sleep again for more then a few minutes or hours at a time, acknowledged the fact that breakfast had been served, and watched as the person delivering it turned and silently left, leaving Sam to decide whether or not to wake his brother or just let him sleep. Looking at what was on the tray in front of him, he deemed it not worthy of disturbing Dean right now, and even though he knew his brother hadn't eaten in a while, and what he had eaten last hadn't stayed down anyway, it just wasn't worth hearing the bitching and complaining he'd be subjected to as the selection of the day was placed before him, it all looking like baby food anyway. Sam just covered it with a napkin and went back to his own bed, trying once again to get just a few minutes of sleep.

Sleep he got too. His eyes opened to the bright sunlight that had fallen on his face, the sun well over the building and shining right through the uncovered portion of the window as it landed directly on him, the natural warmth on his skin refreshing. It was well into the afternoon, and as Sam tried to focus his eyes on his watch, he was shocked to see it was well after 1 p.m. He'd been asleep for almost five hours, and still, not a word or sound from Dean. He didn't know if he should be grateful for the long, uninterrupted rest his brother had gotten, or be concerned at the fact that he still hadn't awoke yet, and decided he better try to rouse him. He'd been out for ten hours now, and even being doped up, that was pushing it. He crossed the room and noticed that breakfast had been silently replaced with lunch, the meal on the try a little more appetizing then the one from this morning, at least in Sam's opinion. Letting his eyes fall to his brother's face, he could see that nothing had changed, if anything Dean looked peaceful and almost relaxed in his slumber. Sam hated waking him, but knew he had to.

"Dean, wake up," he told his brother, giving him a gentle nudge as he spoke. It went mostly ignored as Dean groaned but said nothing, not wanting to come out of the sleep state he was currently in.

"Come on Dean, wake up. You need to eat something," he told him again, this time nudging not so gently, Sam knowing he'd be face to face with an angry bear that would probably want to rip his head off any second, but continued anyway.

"Go away Sam, I'm not hungry," he mumbled back groggily, his hold on the sleep he was enjoying being lost the more Sam spoke to him. He really wasn't hungry, and he didn't want to come out of it, he didn't want to join the waking world right now, because he knew if he did, she would just start hounding him again. At least when he was asleep, she pretty much left him alone. So in a sleep state he just wanted to stay until Sam could take care of her tonight, and all of his problems would be solved. Too bad Sam didn't have the same idea.

"You may not be hungry, but you have to eat something," Sam informed him. It was so unlike his brother to just want to hang out in oblivion all day with no awareness of what was going on around him. "Do you feel alright?" He asked Dean, the obviously next logical question to pose. Maybe all that sleep hadn't really helped all that much.

"I'm fine Sam, just not hungry. Just want to sleep, that's all," he complained, knowing now that it just wasn't going to happen his way since he was pretty much fully awake at this point, and pretending to be still half asleep wasn't working on Sam. His brother was so insistent sometimes, and it really could be annoying.

"Dean, you can sleep all afternoon and night if you want, but first you're going to wake up and have something to eat. It's not really optional because if the nurses see you haven't touched any food all day, you know they will do something about it."

That was all Dean needed to hear to make him open his eyes and stare at Sam's persistent face as the annoyance of the sunlight glaring into the room made his eyes throb in their sockets. He did still have that damn headache, although not as bad as the night before, but it was still there, lingering. He had a pretty good idea what Sam meant about his lack of eating too, and decided to bite the bullet and just do what he was told, hoping that his mother-hen brother would just leave him alone if he complied. He tried rolling onto his back but just couldn't get his body over the hump that was stopping him, until Sam pulled out the pillow wedged behind him, allowing him to drop flat as his legs crossed over themselves. As hard as he tried, he didn't have the strength to right them, and Sam could see it, silently correcting their position for him as the look of disgust in himself spread across Dean's face. Sam knew what was going through his brother's mind, but unless Dean said something about it, he was just going to stay quiet. What was that about letting sleeping dogs lie? When it came to Dean, that was usually a good idea.

Raising the head of the bed enough for Dean to be semi-upright, he wordlessly slid the tray in front of him and allowed him to eat in silence, every bite of his meal producing a disgusted look on his face. He hated tuna, and Sam knew it, and yet here he sat being forced by his brother to eat a room temperature sandwich, warm applesauce, and something else he really wasn't sure he could even identify, forcing it all down with a tall glass of water and hopefully satisfying Sam enough to be left alone now as he had already requested, knowing he'd never be able to go back to sleep with the somewhat painful lump in his stomach making itself known. He just pushed the tray away and closed his eyes, trying to ignore everything around him. He cringed slightly at the sound of Sam's voice when he finally broke the silence.

"Was that so bad?"

"You really want me to answer that Sam? I'm thinking maybe we should just leave that one alone, ok?"

"Whatever you say big brother," Sam chuckled, victories against Dean few and far between, as he added this one to the list right up at the top. Hoping the change of subject would lighten the mood, Sam decided to let Dean in on the events of his morning. "So, I checked out the cemetery while you were asleep. Should be an easy in/easy out. As soon as Bobby gets here, we'll head out. You think you can control her until then?"

"Have I been able to yet?" He sarcastically asked Sam, knowing he'd never be able to keep her quiet as long as he was awake. Sam had a plan, that was obvious, but Dean had one too. Sam wasn't going to like it, but he didn't care. "When did Bobby say he'd be here?" He asked, trying to calculate the time in his head. He knew he'd been awake for at least an hour now, and it was just a matter of time before she did her thing on him again, and the last thing he wanted right now was to go through another series of painful convulsions. He'd do whatever it took to avoid that again, **anything.**

"He said he'd be here by dark, why?" Sam could see the look on his brother's face, and it immediately made him suspicious.

"Just curious, that's all," he lied. "Sam, when was the last time you ate something?" He changed the subject, throwing it back onto Sam to avoid any more talk about himself.

"Earlier this morning, why?"

"You should get something to eat too. If you're gonna salt and burn tonight, you shouldn't do it on an empty stomach, right? Besides, I'd kinda like to be alone, for just a little while, you know, clear my head," he hoped he didn't sound like the whiner he was pretty sure was probably coming out, but as long as he could get rid of Sam for just a little while, it really didn't matter.

"Are you trying to get rid of me Dean?" Sam tossed back at him as his brow crinkled, wondering what, exactly, Dean was up to.

"Just want some 'me time', that's all. Half hour, that's it, please."

"Me time? What the hell is 'me time'?" Sam laughed at that request, he'd never heard Dean ever say 'me time' before, but he'd never seen or heard Dean do a lot of the things he'd done recently before and figured this was just another instance of weird behavior caused by the whole situation. He paused for just a moment but didn't wait for Dean to answer. "Ok Dean, I'll give you a half hour of 'me time.' I'll be back in exactly thirty minutes." Sam walked out the door, shaking his head as he went, and made for the elevator.

Dean waited until he was pretty sure Sam would be gone from the floor before summoning one of the nurses, throwing his deception abilities into full force as he convinced the nice, sympathetic caregiver that he still had the migraine from hell and just couldn't stand it anymore, the clutching of his head, the groaning of agony, and the attempts at holding in his lunch convincing her that he was in more pain then he could bear. She'd looked through the records from the night before, and after getting the ok, administered an identical dose of whatever they'd given him that time. As his mind started drifting off into sleep, he saw her standing at his bedside, her mouth moving but nothing coming out, and this time she wasn't alone. Beside her stood a woman that could have been her twin, her long blonde hair and blue eyes resembling hers and making him shiver the longer he looked, his mind finally starting to realize what it was she was trying to tell him. He remembered what she had said, that it wasn't her fault, and that she was dead already, and now there were two of them. He got it now, but it was just a little too late as the drugs took their hold on him, sending him into the sleep that he now desperately didn't want anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sam wandered down the hallway aimlessly with half an hour to kill and nothing to do to kill it, somehow ending up at the elevators, one of which was already open and ready to go down. Taking is as a sign, he passed through the doors and took the descending ride, exiting when the main floor appeared in front of him through the now open doors and headed in the direction of the cafeteria. He wasn't really hungry, but knew his brother was right when he told him he had to eat, even if Dean had just used the excuse as a ploy to get rid of him for a little while. He could feel the tension and frustration coming from his brother, the lack of control he had over what was happening to him already starting to take its toll. Maybe 'me time' is just what he needed.

Scanning the line of food, he couldn't really find anything of interest and just grabbed a sandwich and an apple, his breakfast long since passed through his stomach but still occasionally reminding him why he preferred eating healthy when he burped it up every now and then. Paying for his pseudo-meal and a bottle of water, he took a seat in the corner, wrinkling his nose when he unwrapped the sandwich and saw it was roast beef, and rare at that. He forced it down anyway, followed by his juicy piece of fruit, the water washing it all down as he counted the minutes left to pass before he could head back up and find out just what Dean was up to.

Chucking his trash into the garbage can at the door, he decided to just go back now. Half hour or not, it would be close enough by the time he got returned. It wasn't like Dean had hooked up with some hottie and needed the room all to himself, because let's face it, there were just too many things in the way still that would make anything even remotely enjoyable impossible, and in his condition, that just wasn't going to happen. But then again, he was talking about Dean Winchester, wasn't he? If anyone could find a way around obstacles like those, he could.

He shook his head as he walked out, his eye catching something in the vending machine and chuckling to himself as he stopped and fed some cash in, watching the small bag of his brother's favorite candy coated, chocolate covered peanut sugar fests fall into the dispensing tray. Dean had been such a good boy by eating all of his lunch without one complaint Sam figured he deserved something edible, and really, what could it hurt? He grabbed the M&Ms and stuffed them in his pocket as he started making his way back up, planning on just sitting around and doing nothing since he had nothing better to do until Bobby arrived anyway.

He stepped from the elevator onto the floor just in time to see the nurse that was exiting their room, and for some reason, Sam didn't like the nervous feeling it gave him in his stomach. He'd left Dean unguarded, and considering the constant barrage of emergencies last couple of days, a lot could happen in a half hour. _'To hell with the last five minutes,' _he thought as he approached the closed door, pushing it open slowly and peering in, never knowing anymore what exactly he would find going in inside when he came back in. Half expecting to see the worst, he breathed a small sigh of relief to see Dean just staring into space with his eyes half open, almost like he was looking at something Sam just couldn't see as his lips moved in an effort to speak, nothing coming out as his eyes just fell shut and he appeared to be sleeping again.

Sam stood next to his brother's bedside, gently shaking him in an effort to wake him, his motives purely selfish ones. He just wanted his brother's company for a little while, was that really so much to ask? All he'd really seen Dean do over the last five weeks was sleep, except for when he was in the thralls of a supernaturally induced epileptic seizure or throwing up onto the floor in the middle of the night. He just wanted normal again, even if it was their kind of normal.

"Dean, come on man, you slept all day. Can't you just stay awake for a little while, at least until Bobby gets here?" He was begging, not even sure if Dean could hear him.

Sam watched as one brow went up, followed by the fluttering of the eyelid directly beneath it as Dean tried to force it open, fighting against his drug induced need to sleep, needing to tell Sam what he'd finally figured out. It sent a slight chill up Sam's spine to watch his brother try to focus that one open eye on him, it being that eerily blue one as it moved from left to right in search of something to train it's gaze on. Dean just gave up when he couldn't locate Sam anywhere in the room, even though he was standing right in front of him, and let it roll back into his head as the lid shut tight again, and as much as Sam really wanted his brother's company right now, he was glad that eye hadn't actually fallen on him, it making him feel like someone else was staring at him and not Dean.

Instead of trying to look at Sam, Dean tried telling him what he needed to get out before he just couldn't gather coherent thoughts anymore, his voice coming out in nothing but a mumble as Sam crouched down and strained to hear what it was his brother was trying to tell him. All he heard was the older man repeating the same thing over and over like a needle stuck on a broken record as he watched his eyes now moving furiously behind the lids that he just couldn't seem to open anymore.

"We gotta stop it Sam, we gotta stop it," he told him repeatedly in as much of an urgent tone as he could muster, the drugs working their way through his system and just about fully in control now.

"I know man, and we will, tonight, I promise," Sam reassured him as he rested his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No Sam, we gotta stop it, you've gotta stop it," he slurred, speech becoming a luxury no longer afforded to him now that the drugs had fully taken over, his eyes no longer dancing behind their lids in his head and his breathing becoming slow and ever.

"Don't worry Dean, it will all stop, tonight." Sam just sighed and let him fall asleep, leaving him alone and bored. He was startled by the voice that came in from behind him, never once realizing he wasn't alone anymore, and thinking to himself this was the second time she'd snuck up on them without so much as a sound of warning.

"Hey Sam, looks like we aren't going to get a whole lot done today," Julia strolled in with that no-nonsense look on her face like she was preparing herself for battle. "The nurses told me they'd sedated him again and he'd probably be out all day. I'm beginning to think he doesn't like me very much. I guess I'll just come back tomorrow and try again. Maybe Prince Charming over there will be up for a workout by then."

Sam's look of total confusion was unmistakable as he just stared at her with his mouth hanging open, his brain not sorting through the right words to say as his forehead creased with the furrowing of his brow. He wondered just exactly he had missed in the last half hour.

"Hey, earth to Sam, you alright there? You might want to shut that before flies find a home," she asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face as she started giggling quietly. "You two are like peas in a pod when you're at a loss for words, aren't you?"

Sam let out a small laugh at that himself as the wheels in his head started turning again, finally finding the intelligence to string together the correct words to form a question. "Yeah, I guess we are. What did you mean when you said they sedated him again? Did they say why?"

"Yeah, they said he was complaining of a bad migraine still. He asked them for it apparently. It must have been pretty bad. I'm sorry Sam, I just assumed you knew."

"It's ok, it hasn't been easy the last couple of days for Dean, but I suspect everything will be better tomorrow. You should come back in the morning, I'm sure he'll be ready to face the world again by then." _'I'll make sure of it', _he thought.

"You sound pretty confident there Sam. I'll plan on it then. See you tomorrow, and try not to worry too much about your brother," she smiled as she left, leaving Sam alone in the quiet of the room, the silence starting to annoy him as he stared at Dean, wondering if he really had a migraine or if he was full of shit and this was his way of just getting through the day until their problem was finally solved. He didn't want his brother in pain, but he didn't want to think Dean was being a coward either, because if brother was anything, it wasn't a coward. Then again, he was doing a lot of things that weren't Dean lately, so he'd just add this one to the list and move on. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the TV and dropped into a chair, mindlessly flipping through channels as time crawled by, nothing else to do now but wait.

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The last thing Sam remembered was watching Moe, Larry, and Curly beat each other senseless until he heard the gravelly voice booming from across the room and jerking him half awake, the 'loving' kick to his shin completing the job as he rubbed his eyes and threw an equally 'loving' curse in Bobby's direction when the pain finally registered in his leg.

"Don't you take that tone with me boy. You said you'd be ready to go when I got here. All you look like you're ready for is a warm bottle of milk and a blanket," he groused through the smile on his face.

"Sorry man, guess I just couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. It hasn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows since you left, you know?"

"So I gathered. Rip Van Winkle over there gonna be alright on his own or should we wake him and tell him the party's moving on without him?" The older man asked, pointing his thumb in Dean's direction as he continued to sleep like a baby.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, finding it difficult to focus his newly opened eyes on the tiny numbers on the face of his watch.

"It's just after ten, and there's some kind of weird blanket of fog so thick I can barely see through it. Sure as hell hope it extends all the way out to the lake, because I can damn near guarantee nobody is going to see us through that pea soup. Whadda ya say Sam, you ready to make Dean all man again?" He chuckled yet again, the thought of Dean Winchester housing a woman within him still too funny for Bobby to contain himself.

"More then you know. With a little luck, we'll be there and back before he even knows we were gone. He's so doped up right now he'll probably be out until next week," Sam frowned and grabbed his jacket before turning off the television, not even remotely bothering to be quiet. Since Bobby's big mouth hadn't woken Dean, nothing probably would.

Both men left the room, Sam turning off the lights behind them as he closed the door, opting for the Impala instead of Bobby's battered, old truck, the Impala being oddly enough the quieter of the two. They drove the distance at a decent speed, but well under the posted limit for fear of riding up too fast on anything that may be in front of them and rear ending it before they even saw it. That would pretty much cinch Sam's death by the most horrible means possible since Dean still hadn't really gotten over the last time Sam wrecked the car yet, and even though that hadn't exactly been his fault, if he did it again, well, let's just not go there. Weekdays on Wisconsin roads didn't make for much traffic though, most inhabitants of the state tucked safely away in their beds by ten o'clock, unless there was a Packer's game on Monday night, then all bets were off. Everyone and their mother would be out and about for that one. But it wasn't Monday, and the roads were pretty much empty.

They pulled up to the cemetery, parking directly in front of where Sam thought the row of headstones should be in an attempt to keep the car somewhere they'd be able to find it easily when they were done, everything barely visible through the mist, the floodlight Sam had shattered earlier still blessedly broken and casting absolutely no light, not that it would have been much help anyway. Bobby wasn't kidding, it was so foggy that Sam could barely see his own hand in front of his face as he made his way to the trunk, popping it open and pulling out flashlights, shovels, gasoline, salt, and matches. Stuffing the latter into his pocket, he handed the necessities to his partner in crime du jour, and keeping the shovels for himself, marched off in the direction he needed to go, practically plastering his face against each headstone until he found the one he was looking for and wondering if he'd ever actually done a salt and burn with Bobby before as the older man followed close behind.

They silently started their digging, not wanting to break the still of the night and potentially reveal their presence, as shovel full after shovel full of dirt slowly piled up next to the grave as they got deeper and deeper, neither man being able to see the other, even though they were standing mere feet apart. As much as Sam hated not being able to see Bobby, he was grateful that if he couldn't see him, nobody else could see them either. The digging went fast, Sam's shovel finally striking something hollow sounding not long after he'd started, the last few remaining blades of earth he tossed out clearing the way for him to brush the remaining dirt aside and crack open the casket with ease. For an old guy, Bobby had done a good job keeping pace with Sam the entire time, hearing a clunk of his own just as Sam was busting open the lid at the top, he himself breaking through the wood and exposing the lower half of the corpse, even though he couldn't see it.

Sam couldn't help himself, and with morbid curiosity aimed his flashlight at her face, wanting to see her for himself, wanting to look at the woman that had so recklessly almost taken his brother's life as he unconsciously emptied the container of salt over her face and chest. They'd done a fairly decent job of presenting her, save for her face, and after only four weeks in the ground she barely even looked dead. Her arms were crossed delicately over her chest as her hands clutched a rosary, making her look like she was deep in prayer, her silky blonde hair flowing softly against her shoulders in an almost angelic vision of beauty. Her face though, that was another story. Sam could tell it had been damaged pretty extensively under the thick layers of makeup that had been piled on, it barely being recognizable as her anymore, but looking relatively flawless in its own way nonetheless. He had studied the photos of her in the newspaper so many times, he had her face memorized, and the one below him barely looked like her now. He wanted to feel sorry for her, but he just couldn't, and climbing from the hole he and Bobby had just dug, he doused the body from top to bottom with gasoline, struck his match, and let it drop, the fuel igniting and sending waves of heat in their direction.

The night air was cool, and Sam had worked up a sweat as he dug, the chill that had settled in him at the lack of motion slowly disappearing as he actually enjoyed feeling the warmth on his face while he watched her burn, or tried to anyway through the dense fog. If he'd been standing any further away, he probably wouldn't have been able to see anything at all, and for that he felt pretty lucky, the entire evening being one big success on their part so far. They both just stood and watched as the fire died down and burnt itself out, leaving Sam to climb down into the hole to make sure there was nothing left inside it but ash before they filled the trench back in and hiding any evidence they had ever been there in the first place.

Filling in the grave had been faster then digging it up, and they were patting the now flat ground in no time, trying to replace the sod they had so carefully removed and placed to the side before digging away. Confident everything looked acceptable enough, Sam grabbed the shovels, Bobby grabbed the now empty can of gas, and they walked silently back to the car, both pleased with the results of the nights work. Finally, one job that had gone off without a hitch. They brushed the dirt and grime off their clothes before climbing back into Dean's car, and once safely inside, left the little graveyard far behind.

They drove back slowly, the entire job taking less then two hours, their speed increasing the farther west they traveled as the fog started lifting like it knew they no longer needed the safety of cover anymore now that their task was complete. Back at their starting place once again, they dragged their now tired asses back up to the room, Sam wanting nothing more then a shower, clean clothes, and his nice, soft bed to crash in for the night with the hope of peaceful, uneventful sleep looming on the horizon for the first time in two days.

Sam opened the door and entered the dark room, the silence meeting him a pretty good indication that he'd been right and that Dean hadn't even stirred the entire time they'd been gone, which he figured was probably a good thing. Reaching for the light switch on the wall, he slowly turned up the lights, fully intent on waking his brother long enough to tell him that their mission was accomplished and he was free. The lighter it got in the room though, the more he couldn't believe his eyes as they fell on the now empty bed on the other side, his vision falling instead on the partially curled up body now laying on the floor with his back to the door, the unmistakable twitching sending Sam into sheer panic mode. Bobby saw him in the same instant, both men crossing the room in as few steps as they could and almost colliding into each other when they decided to try and take up the same spot on the floor at almost the same time.

The first thing Sam noticed aside from the intermittent twitching was the blood flowing freely from his brother's nose that had now pooled on the floor, every spasm that hit him jerking his head and smearing it across his cheek like paint on a canvas, covering his lips and chin and soaking into his hair. His eyes were open wide, their cold, lifeless stare fixed on some invisible spot on the wall, totally bloodshot and not once blinking the entire time both men watched him in stunned silence. His one bendable leg was drawn up almost to his chest as he clutched his stomach in his good hand, the other arm laying heavily off to the side and useless, it still wrapped in the heavy cast needed to protect it. Dropping to his knees, Sam shook his brother hard, trying to pull him from yet another torturous episode, but Bobby stopped him, noticing something that had gone totally unnoticed by the now frantic younger man.

"Sam, stop! Look at him, he's talking to someone," he pointed out to Sam, the movement of his lips subtle, but obviously engaged in some kind of conversation. "Who else could it be?" He added, wanting to let Dean finish whatever had been started.

"No Bobby, this needs to stop! Look at him, she's going to kill him if she keeps this up," Sam practically screamed as he made a grab for the call button that had fallen on the floor next to Dean's huddled body. Bobby was closer though, and got to it first, stopping Sam from what he was planning on doing.

"Sam, listen to me. There's a lot more going on here then meets the eye. You saw her, we cremated her, there was nothing left. That should have ended it, but obviously it didn't. If we are going to stop this we need to know how, and right now, I think she's the only one that can tell us, and it looks to me like maybe Dean's trying to that find out. Just give him another minute, we need all the information we can get," Bobby reasoned with Sam, and as much as he didn't like it, he agreed with it.

Sam stood by for a few more minutes and watched the one-sided conversation progress, Dean's responses becoming farther apart, until his eyes finally blinked once or twice before fully closing, his body going still and his breathing starting to return to normal while Bobby grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wet it down, trying to clean the blood off Dean's lips and face now that the flow from his nose had completely stopped. Dean let out a soft moan when he realized Sam was next to him and tried to open his eyes to explain to his brother what was going on. He had so much to tell Sam, but the whole thing had left him so exhausted and in so much pain he could only spit out one thing before he blessedly let himself pass out.

"I know everything Sam," he whispered before his eyes shut tight, whatever Sam was saying to his as he drifted away going unheard.

"I think you better call the nurses now Bobby," Sam told him, pretty sure whatever was going on was pretty much over for the time being. Dean needed help, and there was no way they were going to be able to hide this, not once Sam had seen everything the fall to the floor had caused.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He stroked her golden blonde hair as he stared into her soft, blue eyes, not seeing the terror that they held as they returned his stare, only seeing '**her**' eyes locked on his own, the eyes he would never forget, the eyes he'd stared at all her life, the eyes he'd enjoyed taking the life right out of. This one wasn't as beautiful as '**she**' had been, but she would do. He'd had her now for hours, most of the day actually, as he prepared her for what he was now anxious to do, bathing her in '**her**' soaps, lotions, and perfumes, washing her hair in '**her**' shampoo and even dressing her in '**her**' clothes. He'd made this one into '**her**' in both look and scent, just as he had with the last one, the first one he'd taken after he'd taken '**her**'. If he stared long enough, he could envision this one even being '**her**', which is exactly what he wanted, what he needed.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, running his fingers through it before he wrenched it back, pulling out a fists worth by the roots and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply to take in the smell and smiling a broad, satisfied smile as her cry of pain was silenced by the duct tape he'd spread across her tear-streaked face. She silently begged him with her eyes to stop, the beg going totally unheeded as he threw the handful of hair he had clutched in his hand down to the floor and grabbed another. Her eyes went wide with pain and fear as she felt her head being slammed forward into the steering wheel of the car he'd sat her in and driven her out to some dark, deserted road, the oversized luxury vehicle with enough room to have a tea party in if he'd really wanted to. Blood coursed down her cheeks and into her eyes from the large gash the force of the impact had opened in her forehead, the red flow exciting him even more as he listened to her muffled screams came from behind the tape, her bound arms preventing her hands from making any attempt to staunch the flow. He'd tied them behind her back, not really tied them, but duct taped them together from wrist to elbow, as he had done to her legs as well, from ankle to knee, making it impossible for her to move or scream. Duct tape was better, it wouldn't leave any bruises or rope burns.

She tried to breathe through her nose, barely being able to draw in enough air since she'd started crying when she'd awakened as their joy ride began, the tears giving way to the snot that currently plugged it, her only relief coming when she'd just blew it out and down the front of her dress but blessedly being able to finally draw in an almost full breath through her now relatively clear nasal passageways.

"Oh my god, look at the mess you've made of yourself," he chastised her, wiping her nose and chin with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his inside jacket pocket. "Mother and father would be so disappointed in you if they could see what you've become Trish."

Still staring at him, not only with fear and pain in her eyes, she now looked confused and wondered who the hell 'Trish' was, and why she was going to die at the hands of this madman that had gone through an awful lot of trouble to obviously make her look and smell like her. She hadn't had long to ponder the thought as she felt the large hand clamp into a fist and wrap around another mass of her now bloody hair, her scalp oozing where the first chunk had originally been anchored but was now currently scattered across the floor mats on the passenger side. She let out another muffled scream as he drove her body into the steering wheel once again, chest first, the impact driving all of the air from her lungs as she felt ribs break under her skin. She panted through her nose, trying desperately to breathe, knowing she wasn't long for this world but not wanting let go anyway.

"Oh Trish, I'm sorry it has to end like this, but you're time has come I'm afraid," he whispered into her ear as he wiped her nose once again, pressing his free arm across her chest and into the seat as he clamped his thumb and forefinger over her nose, cutting off all of her air as he stared almost lovingly into her eyes. She bucked and jerked as much as she could in the seat, but it was no use. Without the use of her arms or legs, all she could do was stare back at him with nothing but hate and contempt in her eyes until everything went dark, her racing heart no longer sounding in her own ears. She was dead, and he was euphoric, at least for the moment.

He climbed from passenger side of the car and raced around, flinging open the driver's side door and sliding her over to the center seat before climbing in behind the wheel himself and starting the engine. Grabbing her by the hair one last time, he rested her head on his shoulder, just as Trish had done, and drove off, the scent of her shampoo filling his nostrils as he drove. He didn't have far to go, the old house well on the outskirts of town and surrounded by nothing but dark and deserted roads in every direction, pulling into the garage and closing the door behind him before killing the engine as he took a moment to sit in the dark to gather his thoughts. Once he'd replayed the events over in his mind a few times just to enjoy the thrill again, he climbed from the car, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her out with him. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down to the musty basement below, him being the first person it had probably seen in over fifty years. He tossed her lifeless body down onto the cot he'd set up in the corner and grasped the tape from her mouth, yanking it off with a quick pull to expose her dark blue lips. He pulled her jaws apart and started digging in her mouth, grabbing hold of her tongue and pulling it out past her lips as far as he could and holding it there with two fingers before he balled his other hand into a fist and slammed it into her mandible, driving it up and slicing off a nice, large piece to add to his collection, which now stood at three. Adding it to the jar he'd already placed the other two in, he laid down beside her, resting his head on her shoulder before falling into a light sleep, almost jumping from his own skin at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket however much longer later he didn't know.

Pulling the cell from his jacket, he cursed when he saw the time, knowing there could be only one reason for the late night intrusion into his privacy. Nobody else would have any reason to call him at nearly two a.m.

"Hello…yes, this is he…I see…ok, I'm on my way, I'll be right there."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean's sleep had been perfectly peaceful, until a gruff toned voice broke the silence in the room and his brother's overly boisterous 'What the hell was that for old man,' shot out. Their discussion went on back and forth, an occasional snicker and dig at his own personal expense being thrown in every now and then for good measure as Bobby took full advantage of his slumber. His head was still partially in the clouds and he struggled to pull it free, sensing he didn't have a whole lot of time to do it in. He knew he had to wake up, and he had to do it now before Sam and Bobby left. He had to stop them. He couldn't let them salt and burn Trish's bones before he found out more of what was going on. In the few moments before he'd nodded off, he had seen her, and this time she wasn't alone, the vision giving him a moment of complete clarity as her words echoed in his head. He remembered her begging him to remember, to remember everything, and now he finally realized what it was she had been trying so hard to remind him of.

She had told him she was dead already, and up until then he had no clue what she'd been talking about, the dead often being confused, but now he knew she was trying to get through to the only person that could help her. Someone had killed her, and he was pretty sure it was the same someone he had seen making his escape into the woods before all hell broke loose and his entire world had been turned upside down. He was also pretty sure that that same someone had killed again. Dean knew that somehow he had to stop him, but in order to do that, he needed to know more, and he was positive she was the only one that could tell him, and if Sam was successful tonight, their connection would be broken and he'd never find out.

"Sam," he said, or at least thought he'd said, until he realized it never actually came out of his mouth. He continued listening to his brother and Bobby talk as he tried again, the room suddenly going totally dark except for the sliver of light sneaking in from the hall through the cracked open door. "Sam, wait," he finally got to actually come out, the closing of the door as his brother left leaving the words hanging in the air and going totally unheard.

"Shit," he swore out lout, angry at himself that he just couldn't pull himself from his drug-induced stupor a little faster as he tried to figure out what the hell to do next. The easiest solution would be to call his damn brother or Bobby, but since he had absolutely no idea where his phone may have gone, that was pretty much out of the question. _'The nurses can call,'_ he thought as he started groping around the bed looking for the damn call button. He knew it had to be there somewhere; he'd had it earlier when he'd made his idiotic request that pretty much put him in the predicament he was now in. Feeling around in the dark for almost forever, he finally felt the cord he knew the damn thing was attached to and gave it a yank. It moved all of an inch before he heard the plastic piece at the end clanging against the metal of the bed somewhere closer to the floor then to his hand.

"Great, just great! How the hell did the damn thing get down there anyway?" He asked out loud, knowing he wouldn't get an answer, but not caring and asking it anyway.

Like the old pro he thought he was by now, he wrapped an arm around the bedrail for leverage and brought his good leg over, twisting his hips and upper body in one motion to leave him propped completely on his side as he inched himself over little by little until he'd worked his entire body over to the edge of the bed, practically leaning himself up against the railing. Releasing his arm from the metal rail, he dropped the barrier between himself and the floor and started feeling around blindly for the cord again. It brushed against his fingers and within a matter of seconds he had it in his hands once more and gave it another gentle tug, hoping it would free itself from whatever was playing tug of war with him. It didn't. It just made that mocking clink sound again, indicating it wasn't going anywhere.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he cursed at it and gave it an even harder tug, ending up with the same results. With his hand still wrapped around the cord, he starting walking his way down it, praying it wouldn't be so far down he couldn't reach it. He let out a quiet 'yes' when he felt it hit his fingertips, to be immediately followed by something not quite so quiet or positive when he realized, albeit too late, just how far his upper body was hanging over the edge.

"OH SHIT," was all he could say before he felt gravity take hold of him and pull him down with it, shoulder hitting hard against the floor first, followed by his hips, the heavy weight of his legs following right behind and completing his drop like a rock and driving all the air out of his lungs momentarily.

He felt the needle that had been in his hand rip free on his way down, and he felt something else rip free right along with it, the thought not really occurring to him over the last couple days until just now why, exactly, it was he never needed to find much use for a bathroom and nobody ever questioned him if he needed one either. He just felt the sudden pull, then the warmth, the pain not catching up with his brain until he'd finally sucked in a lungful of air, which was instantly forced right back out, leaving him unable to breathe at all. Unable to speak or even draw in air, he curled in on himself as much as he could, his knee pulled tight into his abdomen as his one good hand cradled his throbbing groin, his only thoughts now on trying to not pass out from lack of oxygen.

Somehow finding the strength to suck in a few mouthfuls of air as the screaming pain finally released it's death grip on at least his lungs, he started with slow, deep breaths, needing to calm his racing heart before it jumped from his chest and ran screaming away in surrender. He didn't know how long he'd been laying there, curled up on his side, the word agony not even scratching the surface of what he was feeling right now as he tried uselessly to gauge time. It could have been minutes, hours, or even days, he just couldn't tell. He started counting the beats of his heart, each one pulsing in his ears at a steady interval, the throbbing pain that accompanied it never seeming to subside, not even a little. He counted off eighty beats, figuring he needed to add just a few to normal since he wasn't exactly in any normal situation, tucked that number away, then counted off another eighty, the monotony of the task taking his mind off the pain he felt and even slightly calming him. He'd made it as far as sixty sets, and even hour by his calculations, when that usually unwelcome feeling he'd become so familiar with over the last couple days first came over him, the instinct to fight it all but gone as he just let it take over, his body starting to jerk and twitch on the floor, but not as violently as it usually did now that he had no fight left in him, the voice coming through loud and clear in his head as everything else inside it was gone, his pain included.

"Dean, can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me," she begged, well aware of the pain he was in. She leaned over him, her form fully visible to his eyes as it glowed before him in the dark, lighting their little corner of the universe just enough to see each other. She was beautiful in that light. Her long, blonde hair glowed; her lips were full and pink, her skin a radiant creamy white. It was a far cry from how he remembered seeing her the first time, laying bloody and broken on the ground next to her mangled car and very much dead.

"Loud and clear sister, what's on your mind?" He asked her, deciding it was finally time to let her speak, and since she was making him feel pretty good right now, he'd let her give the Gettysburg Address if she wanted to. He was literally her captive audience.

"You don't look too good there," she said in a calm, almost soothing voice, trying to sound as inviting as possible and hoping that this time she'd succeed in her attempt at conversation and he wouldn't shut her out again like he usually did.

"Thanks. That's not what the ladies usually tell me you know?" He tried to say it with a smile, the upturn at the corner of his lips totally forced and not even close to being sincere.

She let out a girlish giggle in response to his attempt at lighthearted humor, knowing full well just how much pain he was in and not really wanting to add to it. "I'll bet they don't. I'll tell you something though, if I wasn't dead and you weren't … well, you know, I'd be all over you in a heartbeat."

"Sweetheart, in my current condition, I don't think that will be happening anytime soon," he squeaked out, curling in on himself just a little tighter even though he hadn't felt much since she'd initiated contact with him this time, and he'd finally let her. He knew he was bleeding and probably twitching all over the floor, but right now, he felt it was a fair trade.

"Yeah, another time, another place… story of my life," was all she could say.

"So, are you going to keep me company until Sammy gets back?" He asked, it sounding more like a beg, but not caring.

"Do you want me to?" She asked back, already knowing what he'd say.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that. Somehow though, I don't think that's going to happen," he told her, some sadness in his voice as he spoke.

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

"Because my brother is on his way to the cemetery to dig you up and salt & burn your remains, that's why."

"What on earth would he want to do that for," she questioned, her voice a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and horror all at the same time.

"Destroying the body releases a spirits hold on this world, hopefully sending them on to the next one. He's hoping to send you on to the next one and away from me."

She pondered that thought before responding, "I think I'm about ready to move on the next one, this one hasn't exactly been a barrel of monkeys."

"Well, if I'm right, Sam's been gone for at least an hour now, which doesn't give us much time to get to know one another better, so, I think now would be a good time for you to tell me everything I need to know about the crazy son-of-a-bitch that killed you so I can stop the guy."

She shook her head in acknowledgement before continuing, "So, you've finally remembered everything you saw?"

"I remember seeing that guy that bolted from your car into the woods and I remember you telling me you were dead already. That's about it, so why don't you start filling in the blanks for me?"

"He's already killed again, you know?"

"I know, you introduced us earlier, remember?" He replied, the memory of her and the other woman at his bedside still very fresh in his mind.

"No Dean, he's killed again, tonight. There are three of us now, not just two. I know he's out of control and needs to be stopped, but it's just not that easy for me," she choked out, almost sounding as if she was starting to cry.

"Well, just start at the top then, ok, and tell me everything I need to know," he just stared at her as he listened to her begin her story.

"He wasn't always this way. He was a loving, caring person once. I guess it's true what they say about not being hugged enough when you're a kid because lord knows he wasn't. Maybe if he had been, we'd be alive today and you wouldn't be here right now. He was something of a prodigy growing up, starting high school a year early, graduating by the time he'd just turned seventeen and heading off to college. He was always taking classes, day and night, even over the summer, probably because he never wanted to come home, but it paid off. Home wasn't exactly a warm, inviting place to be. He graduated in three years and applied to each and every medical school that would take a twenty year old, and believe me, after graduating top of his class, he had plenty to choose from. Even finishing med school in record time wasn't good enough though. Nothing was ever good enough. The more he excelled, the worse it got. Then I got sick, and since he was a doctor, he was expected to fix everything, which he obviously couldn't. He was pretty much shunned after that, and since he was already cold and distant, that just turned him into an emotional nothing. He started drinking pretty heavily after that, our parents always reminding him of his failure of not being able to fix 'their little princess'. I know he didn't hate me, he just snapped when we started arguing that night, but when he did what he did, something else happened inside him too. I'm not really sure what exactly it was, but for some reason he likes reliving that night over and over, and he's using other women to do it. I loved my brother Dean, but you need to stop him before he kills someone else."

Dean stared at her in a stunned silence, the last sentence he'd heard repeating itself in his head and not really being able to believe it. "Hold it a second, you're telling me that your brother is the one that killed you?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. My brother turned his anger at my parents towards me, and I guess in a way, it was partially my fault. If I hadn't gotten sick, they wouldn't have blamed him for not being able to fix it. Our parents made both our lives hell, him being outcast and me being hidden away like a dirty little secret. Our perfect parents couldn't have any imperfections in their perfect world and decided to just ignore what was right in front of their faces. If they only knew what they'd turned him into."

Dean was shocked. He couldn't imagine ever killing Sam, even when their father had made him promise to do so if the time ever came. He'd promised it, but he didn't think he could ever actually do it. He was his brother after all, and there was no bond greater then that, at least to him. Her brother had been the one that killed her, killed others, and almost killed him. Now, Dean was angry. Unfortunately for Dean though, her brother was also human, and he didn't kill humans. He needed to talk to Sam and Bobby, needed to figure out what to do next.

"Do you know how he's doing it, or where he's hiding the bodies?" He asked, needing just a little more information.

She just shook her head as her image starting to fade from his eyes, not wanting to leave but unable to make herself stay. "I'm sorry Dean, I have to go now."

"Wait, I have more questions, you can't go yet," he almost screamed, but only in his head. No words came from his mouth, just the movement of his lips as he felt the pain slowly starting to creep it's way back into him.

"I have to, Sam's here, but don't worry, I'll be back, I promise. Remember these names, Jennifer Thompson and Claire Talbot," was the last thing she said before she was gone.

"But if Sam's here, how can you still be?" He questioned, having a pretty good idea how and cringing at the thought. Didn't serial killers keep trophies?

Dean could feel his body finally go still, the intense pain he'd felt earlier finally reduced to cramps and a throbbing ache. He could feel the warmth against his face and realized when he felt it's wet stickiness that his nose had been bleeding the entire time he'd been talking to Trish. He let out a moan when he felt the warm towel pressing against his skin as Bobby tried to clean up the mess, all the strength he had left in him used to open his eyes and look at Sam, who was kneeling next to him with a hand resting heavy on his shoulder. He looked at his brother with the intention of telling him everything he could, but all he could spit out was "I know everything Sam," before another wave of cramping hit him and he just passed out.

"I think you better call the nurses now Bobby," Sam told the older man, and Bobby wasted no time in doing so, rising to his feet and heading for the door in a near sprint, pretty fast for an old man. Sam took the towel Bobby had left on the floor and continued wiping the blood from his brother's face, staring the whole time at the other pool of blood now on the floor as he tried to figure out where the hell it was coming from, or maybe he knew, he just wouldn't let the thought into his head.

He heard the loud voices in the hall approaching fast, the bustle of activity around him suddenly nerve-wracking as nurses and a doctor essentially pushed him out of the way to do their jobs. He heard one of the doctors ask a quick question then pass off an order to a nurse who immediately ran from the room, the words echoing in his head when he realized he'd been right about the pool of blood on the floor and staining his brother's hand.

"Whose the urologist on call?" He'd asked, the answer he heard peaking his curiosity.

"Dr. Waterson's on call tonight," she'd answered.

"Page him and tell him to get over here now, guess it's about time he saw his sister's handiwork for himself."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Sam stood in his corner, the corner he'd pretty much been shoved into by scrambling medical personnel, and watched as they not-so-gingerly lifted Dean up off the floor and back onto the bed, the movement obviously causing some kind of pain even in the unconscious state his big brother was in as he let out an agonized groan, but nothing else as he went silent again once he'd been laid back down and wasn't moving anymore. One nurse cleaned to blood off his hand and made an attempt at reinserting the dislodged IV line as another tried to finish the job Bobby and Sam had started by cleaning off his bloodied face, both sharing the same look of sympathy as they occasionally stole glances at Sam that didn't go unnoticed by him either. He wasn't sure just how much more he wanted to see as he watched them start to remove the soiled gown from Dean's lower body and was grateful when he felt the strong grip around his wrist pull him away from the scene and towards the door.**

**"Come on Sam, let's wait outside. He's got enough people in his personal business without us being there too, and I honestly don't think he'd want you watching them while they try to fix **this **one up."**

**Bobby practically dragged Sam across the room, the little resistance he was putting up forgotten when they'd exposed his brother's bottom half for everyone in the room to see, everyone including Sam and Bobby. Dried blood covered him from hip to hip and obscured all his sensitive parts, but the sight of the white cast stained red was enough and he needed no more prompting from the older hunter as he made for the door all on his own in a near sprint, his stomach turning and his head swimming. They both left the room as quickly as they possibly could, but as Bobby continued walking down the hall, Sam just stood in the doorway listening, not wanting to be in the actual room, but wanting to know what, exactly, was going on every second. He heard the doctor say the bleeding had stopped, asked one of the nurses to get ice packs and assumed it was the one that had just run right past him in a blur, then heard something he wished he hadn't.**

**The cry of pain from the room not only made Sam's stomach lurch, but made it turn over and over as it somersaulted up his throat and threatened to come out and continue down the hall and out the doors. He was already turned and about to run right back in when he felt that hand wrapped around his arm again, this time dragging him away from the door with quite some force. Sam tried to pull free, but Bobby held him firm and told him with his eyes that he just needed to stay put.**

**"Sam, you ****ain't**** no doctor, so you may as well just stay the hell out of there. The last thing they need is you ****gettin****' in the way of what they're doing."**

**"But they're hurting him Bobby, you heard it yourself," he practically cried, not expecting Bobby to understand what he was feeling right now. Talk about adding insult to injury.**

**"No they're not Sam, they're helping him as best they can, and you'd best just let them do it in private. We're ****gonna**** wait down the hall, and when they're done, they'll come get you. ****You don't need to be ****waitin****' in**** the doorway ****makin****' yourself sick." Bobby clamped his grip harder on Sam's arm and walked him down the ****hall,**** and Sam started mindlessly following when he realized Bobby was right. There really was nothing he could do and blocking the doorway was making him a nuisance, so the two of them just plopped themselves onto the couches down the hall and started waiting, something Sam was utterly sick and tired of doing by now.**

**Sam couldn't keep his thoughts from spilling from his brain and out his mouth, and after a few long minutes finally asked the questions he'd wanted an answer to the second he saw his brother huddled up on the floor in a pool of his own blood. "What the hell ****happened**** Bobby? What did we do wrong? Why is this still happening? Why won't she just leave him alone?" Sam was rambling, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop it as the questions just kept flowing.**

**"Slow down Sam, one question at a time. I wish I knew what happened, but I don't, and the only one that can tell us it that brother of yours, so it looks like we're just ****gonna**** have to wait here to find out until he can tell us what he knows," Bobby answered just about all of Sam's questions in one sentence, letting out a long sigh as he did.**

**"You heard what they said, didn't you? That doctor they called is her brother Bobby. Do you think that's a good idea? I have a bad feeling about this, really bad." Sam's mind was thoroughly working now, trying anything to keep it occupied and off what was going on just down the hall as he watched people going in and out of the door to his brother's room like patrons at a fast food restaurant.**

**"What difference does it make who the doctor is ****Sam.**** You haven't had a bad one here yet, have you? And do you really think he'd want anything else bad to happen to Dean? Shit, his family is already on the line for all of this, so if anything, he'll take even better care of him, so will you just relax and let them do their damn jobs?" Bobby felt for Sam, and Dean, but he was starting to lose some, or not most, of his normally limitless patience. Yeah, he was worried about Dean too, but Sam was starting to go a little overboard.**

**Sam just shook his head at that, the tone of Bobby's voice sounding eerily like John's when he was starting to get annoyed, and decided he better just back off, shutting his mouth and taking up pacing the floor instead. He'd made the walk from one end of the hall to the other at least twenty times before someone finally approached them, the face totally unfamiliar to him, yet somewhat familiar. The blonde hair and blue eyes told him everything. Sam would recognize those blue eyes anywhere, he saw them every time he looked at Dean lately. It had to be Dr. ****Waterson**** the resemblance was just too coincidental.**

**Dr. ****Waterson**** extended his hand in greeting and waited for Sam to take it, which he mindlessly did and shook it rather vigorously, marveling at the face he saw before him. He'd seen that face before, only this morning, at his sister's grave. He was the vandal that had shot out the floodlight, and now couldn't he help but wonder why. He was definitely no frat boy doing it on a dare, but there was no way he could ask him what he'd been doing there. "Sam? I'm Dr. ****Waterson****, but please, call me Trent. I'm sorry we had to meet like ****this…well… please don't take offense at this, but I'm sorry we had to meet at all. I must admit, I am a little uncomfortable at the moment considering the circumstances, but I just want you to know I'll take good care of your brother. Do you have any idea what happened?" His face was the epitome of compassion, and for some reason, Sam felt very at ease by his words.**

**"Not really. We..." Sam motioned to Bobby as he spoke, "I mean my uncle Bobby and I were taking care of something and we found him like that when we got back. He must have fallen out of bed somehow. He's been pretty sick and restless since he woke up yesterday, so I really couldn't tell you what happened, but I'd really like to know."**

**The good doctor extended a greeting hand to Bobby this time, the older hunter shaking it but not having the same reaction Sam did. He didn't like him, not one bit. There was something cold and calculating in the way he gripped the hunter's hand, and he immediately distrusted him. He could tell by Sam's body language he didn't feel the same way though, and decided he'd better just keep his mouth shut for now, somewhat regretting what he'd said earlier about the choice of doctor not making a difference. It was his turn to have the bad feeling, the really bad feeling.**

**"Well, you probably already know why I was called, so I'll just cut to the chase. We obviously need to do a little repair work, nothing too serious I suspect. Try not to worry too ****much,**** we'll bring him back to you in one piece."**

**"What do you mean, 'repair work'?" Sam, for some sick reason, wanted a little more elaboration, even on such a sensitive subject. He wasn't satisfied enough with what he'd heard, almost like he needed the added torture of detail to make his day complete.**

**Dr. ****Waterson**** could almost sense Sam's need to know every gory detail, so he decided to tell him. Being a sociopath did have ****it's**** advantages at times. "Your brother was catheterized while he was in a coma for obvious reasons. Normally the coupler attached to the bag would detach itself when pulled on so forcefully, but for some reason when your brother fell from the bed it held tight and the entire line was ripped out quite traumatically," he smiled inside when he visually saw Sam and Bobby both cringe at that comment and instinctually reached for their own manly areas as he continued his explanation. "It looks like there are some pretty severe lacerations to the entire urinary tract that are going to need attention, especially the bladder. I think there's a pretty good tear in it, but I won't know for sure until I get in there and look. We'll need to stitch everything up to prevent any more seepage into the abdomen which is what I suspect is causing the bad cramping," He was enjoying the look on both of their faces, especially Sam's when he saw it start to go pale, knowing it was starting to make him physically ill. He wanted to go on, but Sam cut him off to ask the question he thought would have an obvious answer.**

**"Seepage?"**

**"When something wants a way out, it finds the shortest path of least resistance to do so. The first place any accumulated fluids will go is out through that tear and straight into the ****body. It's pretty minor surgery Sam, so please don't be too overly concerned. We're just going to give him some sedation and an epidural, nothing too complicated and he'll probably only end up with a few stitches. I really don't want him totally under considering he's been comatose for the last five weeks up until yesterday. I'd really like to get started soon, so if you don't have any other questions, I'm going to go get ready and scrub up. He was pretty agitated when I saw him, said he needed to talk to you before he'd let us do anything, so I'd suggest you go see him now. The nurses should have already given him something to put him out, so I don't expect him to be with it too much longer."**

**"No, I think that about covers it," Sam told him, his face an odd shade of white and gray at the same time, making him look like he was going to be sick at any second. **

**Dr. ****Waterson**** turned and strolled down the hall towards the elevators with a little spring in his step and a broad smile across his face, the look he'd left both men with worth a million dollars in his book, especially Sam's. He hadn't met either one of them yet, only peeked in on Dean once or twice in the beginning when Sam had been gone, but now he was up close and very, very personal with the elder Winchester brother and knew he was going to have some fun with this situation. He'd initially been angry when they'd paged him, but now that he knew why they had, he was floating through the clouds and wondered exactly how to handle the whole situation. He'd wanted all along to finish the job, maybe this was his golden opportunity, like someone was giving him a sign.**

**Sam watched him go and followed right behind him, not to the elevator but to his brother's door and slowly stepped inside, not really sure how to react when he met him eye to eye. He approached the bed and thought he'd been saved when he saw his brother's eyes weren't open and actually turned to leave when he heard Dean speak up. Somehow Dean had heard his brother's footsteps on the floor and knew he was there. ****Damn it, he's good, even when he's wounded. ****Dean addressed Sam without even opening his eyes to confirm it was really him. He didn't need to, he already knew, but asked anyway.**

**"Sam, that you?"**** He said to his brother, the aching he felt coming out loud and ****clear**** in his voice.**

**The sound of Dean's pain filled tone wiped out any feelings of hesitation Sam may have had and he was at his side to hear what he had to say immediately.**

**"Hey, how do you feel," he couldn't help but ask. It was the first thing Sam always asked before he got the usual 'I'm fine'.**

**"I feel like the entire Dallas Cowboy ****Cheerleading**** squad took turns kicking me in the nuts Sammy. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, even Yellow Eyes."**

**"That bad huh?****Even Yellow Eyes?"**

**"Yeah, that bad."**** Sam really didn't need to ask the question to know it was true. He could hear it in his brother's voice, the way it faltered every few syllables; or see it in his face as ****he grimaced every now and then, trying to hide it but not doing a very good job; or see it in his body, the way he was still curled up in that tight little ball he'd gotten used to being in over the last two days. "Hell, if this is what it's like to be a woman, I'll definitely pass. Bleeding and cramps really sucks." Dean was trying to be ****funny,**** and failing miserably.**

**Sam changed subjects quickly, having more important things then ****dry**** humor on his mind. "What the hell happened after we left? You were sleeping like a baby, ****then**** you were bleeding like a stuck pig. What gives****"**

**"I had to stop you Sam. I couldn't let you burn her. Now it looks like it didn't really matter. Guess I could have saved myself a lot of pain, huh?" Dean was starting to not make much sense ****now,**** and Sam knew he didn't have a lot of time left before he wasn't going to be able to talk to him anymore.**

**"Why couldn't you let us burn her? She's been putting you through hell the last two days, no, let me rephrase that. She's put you through hell for the last five weeks. ****Why Dean?"**

**"Because I needed to know more," he was starting to mumble now, and Sam knew it wouldn't be long now.**

**"Dean, you said you know everything, what is everything? Why didn't the salt and burn work? Why is she still tormenting you? What is going on?" Sam hoped he could get some more information out of his brother before he went totally down. He could see he was fading fast now that the drugs were starting to kick in again. In fact, he could see the light was almost out completely.**

**"Sam, she was murdered. She wasn't driving. He's a serial killer…write…down…Jennifer Thompson…Claire Talbot…victims too…look them up…" his voice trailed off more and more with each word now that his inability to resist yet more drugs he'd been fed took effect. He was almost out, totally out when he heard Sam say one last thing to him.**

**"Hey, you ****wanna**** hear something ironic? That doctor, the one that's going to fix ****you're…****well...you know...he's Trish's brother. What are the odds of ****that.**** Don't worry though, he said he'd take good care of you, and I think I believe him. He must feel guilty for what she did to you."**

**Dean heard that loud and clear, forcing his eyes ****open**** as they filled with an almost panicked look that Sam wasn't quite sure how to interpret. Unfortunately for Dean, he wouldn't even get a chance. As his eyes went wide, the orderlies had come and started dragging him from the room, leaving Sam behind to wonder just what in the hell that look had been for. All Dean could think about as he was wheeled down the hall was that the bastard brother serial killer was going to be taking a knife to him in the next few minutes, and at his most cherished parts no less, and he was now more scared then he'd ever been in his entire life.**


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Just want to throw thanks to the people that reviewed that I seem to be unable to express personal thanks to. (Not because I don't want to, but because I'm just too forgetful) Thank you one and all!

Chapter 12

Sam stood dumbstruck in the now nearly empty room, empty except for himself, Bobby, and the orderly left behind to clean up the pools of Dean's blood that had been left on the floor. Sam just watched as little by little the mess was wiped away until all reminders of what he'd just witnessed had been eliminated from his sight. He just wished someone could clean out the memories that were still stuck in his head, the last one being the look of almost sheer terror as they took his brother away from him yet again. Sam didn't know what that look had been for, he could only assume the thought of more surgery, and surgery THERE at that, was more then he could take. He drifted in the direction of the orderly still at work and dropped to his knees, asking if he could help him but not really sure why. Bobby knew why as he stood there totally unnoticed by both brothers the entire time. He'd followed right behind Sam when he'd come into the room, and heard every word Dean had said.

"You know it's not all blood, don't you," the man cleaning the floor told Sam after declining his offer of assistance, as if knowing the large pool of fluid his brother had left behind wasn't all the blood he'd had in him at the time would make him feel better. Well, when he thought about it, it actually did. If that had all been blood, Dean would probably be dead by now. The man just finished what he was doing quickly, leaving a wet spot of some kind of disinfectant on the floor and excused himself, leaving Sam on his knees, mindlessly staring into space.

"You know, you gotta stop beating yourself up Sam. I know what you're thinking, but you had no way of knowing this would happen," Bobby spoke to him as soothingly as his husky voice would allow, knowing it probably wouldn't make a difference to the young man, but at least he had to try.

"Bobby, did you see his face? He was in so much pain, again, and did you see the look in his eyes when they took him away? How much more can she do to him before she kills him? God Bobby, he could have bled to death while we were gone, and for no damn good reason since everything we did was pointless. It didn't solve a damn thing and we're right back to square one!" Sam's voice was getting louder and angrier with each word he spoke, it almost reaching a yell by the time he'd finished. Bobby knew he was angry too, and also knew he better redirect that anger somewhere else, and soon.

The older hunter was smaller, but it didn't matter as he grabbed the younger man by the arms, looking him right in the eyes, and started in on him. "Sam, listen to me. We did what we thought was right. We didn't know, hell, your brother didn't even know until now what was going on. Now that we know, we can do something about it and finally make it right. You need to get off the guilt trip train at the next stop and get your ass onto that computer of yours and find out everything you can before they bring him back up here, because believe me, the first thing he's gonna ask you is what you found out, and you better have some answers for him."

Sam tried calming himself as Bobby spoke, his voice the only voice of reason that either one of them ever seemed to hear anymore. He was right, he had to see what he could find out, and he had to do it now, if anything to at least distract himself. Sam's shoulders slumped as he silently got up off the floor and made his way to his own little corner of the room, booting up the computer and waiting as patiently as he could for it to be ready to use.

"First thing you need to look up is that doctor. There's something that rubs me the wrong way about that one," Bobby requested, trying to say it as vaguely as possible.

Sam really didn't like the sound of that, and wanted a little more elaboration. "Bobby…" his questioning tone along with the spike of his brow asked it all in just one word.

"It's just a feeling Sam, that's all," Bobby told him, keeping his answer short. Sam was enough of a basket case without Bobby giving him more material to weave with.

Sam searched Trent Waterson through Google, somewhat impressed at what he'd found and handed off the laptop to the older hunter when he'd heard the knock in the doorway indicating they had company, his pace to the door quick when he saw who it was.

"Dr. Horton?" Sam was surprised to see the orthopedic doctor that had saved his brother's leg, even after the other doctors said he probably wouldn't ever walk on it again. That somber look had returned to his face, the smile he'd seen the other day for the first time since they'd met once again gone, replaced by that concerned frown Sam was used to seeing.

"Sam, can I talk to you for a minute?" If Sam didn't like the look, he sure as hell didn't like to tone either. Taking in a deep breath, he gave the doctor permission to deliver whatever news he'd come to give. If he was going to be buried in shit, they may as well pile it all on now so he'd know exactly how much he'd need to dig himself out of later.

"I just wanted to come up and quickly let you know I ran into Dean on his way down. I'm a little concerned about that fall he took. It wasn't far, but it looks like he landed hard on that bad hip. There are a lot of pins and screws in there that may not be quite ready for that kind of pressure yet. I'm going to take a look around in there while Dr. Waterson already has him sedated. Try not to worry too much, we'll bring him back in one piece. _'Jesus Christ, did they all have that one piece line in their bedside manner book?' _Sam couldn't help but wonder since it was the second or maybe third time he'd heard it in less then an hour.

"You're gonna be there during the surgery?" Bobby piped in from his corner, dropping the laptop on the seat in front of him and walking over to the two. That nagging feeling he had about Dr. Waterson was still somewhat eating at him, but he still wasn't quite able to put his finger on why yet.

"I will be, unless you have any objections. I won't be doing anything too invasive, not today anyway. If there's any real damage it'll have to wait, but at least I'll know what I'm getting into," he thought the question to be a protest and he sounded like he was trying to convince them, not knowing the real reason Bobby had posed the question in the first place. Bobby felt a little wave of relief wash over him when he heard the answer, the thought of someone he did trust being right there to watch everything that was happening.

"You'll be there the whole time?" Sam asked this time, finally sensing the concern Bobby felt.

"Do you want me to be?" Dr. Horton questioned them both, the feeling of tension first coming from Bobby, then from Sam, starting to make its way to him as it started to fill the entire room oppressively. "Is there something wrong you'd like to tell me?"

"I'm just not that crazy about the choice of doctors, that's all, considering who he is. I think both Sam and I would feel better with a familiar face in there." It was the only way he could think to answer without raising all kinds of red flags that he couldn't even justify to himself.

"I understand how you must feel, but rest assured, Dr. Waterson is one of the best in his field. He would never let his personal feelings interfere with his performance. Trust me, Dean's in excellent hands. If it will make you feel better though, I'll be more then happy to assist the whole time," he offered, hoping to put their minds at ease.

Sam took his turn to speak as he shot Bobby a curious look. "If you wouldn't mind, I think we'd both feel a lot better." Bobby silently shook his head in agreement.

"Well, I guess it's settled then. I'll come back as soon as I can to let you know how everything went. It may be a few hours, so try to relax and be patient." Shaking both men's hands, he turned to leave, Sam tossing him one more 'Thank you' as he left the room.

"I don't give a rat's ass if he's the best doctor in the state. Hell, he could be the best damn doctor in the whole universe, I still don't trust him," Bobby confessed to Sam when they were alone again, making Sam's own unease increase even more. He didn't really like the idea of Dean's temporary soul mate's brother cutting his own brother's most sensitive parts apart, but he thought the same thing Dr. Horton did. Guilt for what his sister had done would drive him to make sure everything went smoothly, but for some reason, Bobby thought differently.

Bobby decided he needed to leave it at that though and quickly changed the subject, needing to divert Sam's attention elsewhere. It was going to be a long few hours, and with both men working on very little sleep, it was definitely going to make it easier on both of them keeping Sam's mind occupied. The last thing he wanted was Sam's mind drifting back to that dark, guilt ridden place he really had no business being in in the first place. He prayed someday the damn Winchesters would just accept the fact that occasionally bad shit happens and everything wrong in the world wasn't all their faults, but knew that, unfortunately for him, it wouldn't be today.

"What were those names he told you?" He asked Sam as he stared at the screen that had made it's way back into Sam's lap when he'd sat, prompting Sam's already drifting mind to focus back on the task at hand.

"Jennifer Thompson and Claire Talbot. He said they were victims, all three of them, of a serial killer."

Sam typed in the first name along with a keyword or two, the name itself being way too common to use alone. The first two hits instantly peaked his interest, both of which were archived articles from the local paper. Sam clicked on the first one and started reading out loud what he'd found as Bobby listened carefully.

"The body of twenty-three year old Jennifer Thompson was found deep in the woods just off Rt.14 early this morning, her disappearance three days ago ending in tragedy when she was stumbled upon by a set of hikers. The cause of death has yet to be determined pending the results of a full autopsy, however police have stated they do suspect foul play…the rest is just a bunch of bullshit, but Bobby, this report is two weeks old. Take a look at her picture, a good look."

Sam turned the laptop again in the older man's direction and Bobby took his good look as Sam had instructed. She had long, blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and could have passed for Trish's twin. The picture actually sent a chill up his spine when he looked at it, his suspicions at what Dean had told them being right already building. He turned the computer back in Sam's direction and waited as he read the other article, it pretty much telling them exactly what the first one had told them.

"What about the other one? What's her name again?" Bobby asked as Sam started clicking away again.

"Claire Talbot," he told him, typing in the name and the same few keywords. The results were slim, only producing one hit that applied to them, but an ominous hit nonetheless. Sam clicked on the lone article of interest, the picture he saw sending his own chill up his spine and telling him they were in a boatload of shit. "This article was just posted an hour ago. She's been missing since early this morning, or technically yesterday morning. I guess you don't need to wait a full twenty-four hours to report someone missing around here."

"Not when you look exactly like a recently murdered dead girl you don't," Bobby commented back. "Sam, I think we have a problem, a really big problem. We need to talk to Dean."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As much as Dean wanted to protest what he knew was about to happen to him, he just couldn't seem to make his tongue or lips work anymore, his half open eyes staring at the pocket of the person pushing him down the hall and quite possibly to his permanent demise. He forced himself to stay awake as long as he possibly could, hoping against hope he could find the strength to say something, anything, to end this current nightmare. He really couldn't gauge time very well anymore, everything he saw and heard passing by him in one big blur, some of the voices he heard were familiar, some were not, but he noticed right away when they'd stopped in a very sterile smelling room with very bright lights.

He was still curled up in his tiny little ball, the drugs they'd given him making him loopy but not really easing any of his pain. He heard someone behind him say something presumably to him, then start tapping against his back, really unaware of what was going on until he felt the stick, then the burn. He finally got some sound to escape from him as he let out a slight moan, the burning not really all that bad and not lasting all that long, but just adding to his misery. Once that finally passed completely, he felt something else he didn't like, a hard pressure in just about the same place, then something that felt like digging, and once again, another groan found it's way to escape. It wasn't long after that though that he really didn't feel anything anymore, the pain was gone, the pressure was gone, but for some reason he just couldn't uncurl himself. He didn't need to though, someone was kind enough to roll him over onto his back, giving him a good view of the ceiling now.

Moving again, they took him here and there and everywhere, back and forth, rolling him over and back like a rag doll, until he finally ended up right back where he'd started from. He was pretty sure he'd seen someone familiar poking at his hip, but he couldn't really place the face at the moment, he just knew he'd seen it before. He was getting to the point that he didn't care anymore, he wasn't in pain, and with that being the only thing he'd had to keep him slightly coherent, it was pretty much all over but the shouting.

The sounds he starting hearing around him next were starting to make him nervous, the whine of what was most definitely a saw totally out of his eyeshot and somewhat terrifying as he tried to figure out what the hell they were going to do with it. It seemed to go on forever, that horrible noise it made as it burrowed into something he couldn't see, but then blessedly it had stopped. _'Ok, still breathing, not cut up in little pieces, that's good.' _He thought to himself, his fuzzy mind making him forget the reason he'd thought it in the first place, until he saw the face towering over him like a giant, the face that made it all come crashing back down and into his thoughts like an atom bomb. If he was going to die at the hands of a crazy serial killer, at least he was going to get his last words in, and with all the strength he could gather, he stared into those eerily familiar blue eyes and spit out what he thought would be his final words.

"I know what you did, you killed her," was all he could get out in the most accusatory voice he could before his eyes closed shut, drugs finally sending him off to another world, a world he may just find himself in forever.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd been a little more than irritated when he'd run into his esteemed colleague earlier and was not asked but told that he'd be joining him in surgery. That would just about ruin any plans he'd had to finish his job and he just resigned himself to patching the poor lucky bastard up and sending him on his way. He'd get his kicks later, one way or another. That was until he'd looked the man directly in the eyes and heard what he'd had to say before he'd lost his hold on consciousness.

The comment had been shocking as it sent goosebumps up his spine. He could have only meant one thing, but how could he have known? He'd never seen him before, not even at the accident scene. There was no way he could have seen him as he lay there bleeding on the side of the road, so how could he possibly know what he'd done? _'It must just be the drugs talking. No problem, I'll fix that,' _he thought as he excused himself to prepare for what he would need to do.

He snuck into the room that housed the stock of drugs and rummaged through the various bottles until he'd found what he was looking for. Loading a syringe quickly, he snuck back out without ever being noticed. Being a Waterson did have its advantages, because even if he had been seen, nobody would dare say a word. He returned to his now relatively prepared patient, who was now totally out like a light, fully scrubbed and ready to begin, and slowly added the additional drugs to the mix, Dr. Horton questioning what he was doing the second he saw him doing it.

"What the hell was that for? He's already heavily sedated, are you trying to kill him?"

"Just giving him a little 'Mind Eraser'. No good reason for him to remember what he's been through the last few hours, is there? Hell, if it were me, I'd want to forget it too." He answered in a nonchalant tone, tossing the now empty container into the biohazard bin.

"Was that sterile?" Dr. Horton asked somewhat suspiciously.

"Of course it was, do you think I'm an idiot?" He answered, somewhat angry at the question, but chuckling to himself and hiding a grin behind his mask when the truth actually ran across his head. '_Of course it wasn't sterile, what did he think I am, an idiot?'_

"Let's just get this done please, I don't want to be here all day."

With that, both men went about their business, Dr. Horton making his incisions, feeding in his little camera and looking around, and finishing rather quickly, happy with what he'd seen. He'd redirected his attention to what Dr. Waterson was doing when he was done, watching like a hawk as the man seemed to be enjoying what he was doing just a little too much. He'd stitched up the obvious tear that Stevie Wonder could have seen, but was seemingly ignoring the other smaller tear to the blood vessel right next door that was continually oozing somewhat non-stop. Dr. Waterson was just about to say he was finished when Dr. Horton opened his mouth as he seriously wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

"Umm Trent, you gonna take care of that bleeder there, or are you letting it close up on it's own? If you are, I think you may want to reconsider that idea, since it hasn't stopped bleeding yet."

"Yeah, I'm getting to it Mark, just hold your pants on." Now he was angry. Yes, he'd seen the bleeder, and No, he didn't plan on closing it up. He was planning on making it just a little bit bigger before sitting back and watching Dean slowly bleed to death over the next couple days. He was really starting to dislike the good Dr. Horton, dislike him quite a bit.

He silently finished putting everything inside back together the way it was supposed to be and stitched Dean back up, the hope of watching him slowly and painfully bleed to death now taken away from him. Damn it if Dean Winchester wasn't the luckiest guy he'd ever met. Tossing his instruments onto the tray next to him and ripping off his gloves in irritation, he started to leave, Dr. Horton once again confronting him with yet another question about his performance.

"Trent," he said coolly, "Aren't you forgetting something? You planning on him using the bathroom anytime soon, because if you are, you may want to reconsider that idea or he's never gonna heal up right."

Now he was really pissed off. How dare he question what he was doing? He was a bone and joint doctor after all, what the hell did he know when it came to his field of medicine? No, he had no intentions of putting that catheter back in, he wanted it to hurt like hell every time Dean tried to empty his bladder, knowing the lacerations going all the way out would never heal properly if he just left it alone, and now Dr. Horton had taken that pleasure away from him as well. Anger was flooding him from head to toe, until one bright thought made it's way to the forefront of his mind. He smiled that devious smile no one could see behind his mask and pulled on another pair of gloves, everything he needed already ready and waiting for him.

"Thanks Mark, don't know where my head is today," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

"Yeah, that's obvious," Mark sarcastically shot back, having no clue what was going through Trent's mind at the moment. Maybe Sam and Bobby had been right after all.

What was going through his mind wasn't what he was doing at the moment since he could probably do that in his sleep. No, what was going through his mind as he stared at Dr. Horton with nothing but contempt was the question he already knew the answer to, and it almost made everything all better. Wasn't Dr. Horton's fiancée young, blonde, and blue-eyed? Yeah, he was pretty sure she was, that little physical therapist he always saw roaming the halls of the hospital. She was a little older then he liked them, but considering how much enjoyment Dr. Horton had just stripped him of, she'd do.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sam paced the room in silent agony, having long since abandoned his internet search of both women now that he'd read just about everything that even remotely applied to either victim. The resemblances all three shared were entirely too coincidental to be left to mere chance, that was painfully obvious, yet not one newspaper article even remotely indicated there was a connection when a third blonde haired, blue eyed woman went missing. Either the police were keeping everything under wraps pretty damn tightly, or they were just too stupid to put two and two together to make four. Dean had told him it was a serial killer and had even told him their names, but in a weird way, he did have some pretty unbelievable inside information from an equally unbelievable source. If Dean was right though, Sam could only assume that calling her a victim meant Claire Talbot was already dead, she just hadn't been found yet. _'But what if she isn't?', _he couldn't help but ask himself. Dean had also told him he knew everything, and Sam could only hope that meant he knew who the killer was, he just didn't get a chance to tell him before the drugs wiped him out again. As each thought raced faster and faster through his mind, he paced more and more, until Bobby couldn't stand it anymore.

"Sam, if you don't stop pacing this room like your waiting for the jury to come back with your verdict of either life or death, I'm gonna personally break both your legs so you can't even stand anymore!" He nearly yelled at the younger man, his patience already worn so thin it was almost transparent.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks and glanced at Bobby, the look he was returning Sam's blank stare with indicating he wasn't even remotely close to kidding. Sam had been unconsciously pacing for hours now and barely even realized he'd been doing it anymore, until the older man broke into his intense concentration with a few sharp, well said words. He was exhausted, and yet he couldn't sit still. The pacing paused only briefly before he mindlessly started it again, his attention now focused elsewhere, at least temporarily.

"I can't help it Bobby, it's been hours. What the hell could possibly be taking them so long?" He blurted in an overly whiny tone, and Bobby could tell there was a lot more on his mind in that one sentence then just the obvious.

"They told you it would be hours before they'd even started Sam, did you think they were yanking your chain? You, of all people, should know when they say hours around here, it means just that, and plenty of them too. One means two, two means four, you know the drill. Now, do you think you could just sit for five minutes and give me a break? All that pacing is starting to drive me insane." Bobby nerves were just about shot right along with Sam's, and Sam's agitation was only making it worse.

Sam ignored the question and continued his pace, scratching his head and rubbing his chin, then verbalizing exactly what was on his mind in the hopes of clearing it a little. "What if she's still alive Bobby? Claire Talbot, they haven't found her. What if she isn't dead yet? Maybe Dean knows where she is, maybe we still have a chance to save her." There it was, the thing that had been eating at him for the last hour or so, finally out on a plate for Bobby to pick at with a fork.

"You heard what your brother said, she was one of his victims. If he even remotely thought for a second she was still alive, he would have said so and made us promise him we'd go find her before he let them take him anywhere. I'm sorry Sam, but you know that brother of yours better then anyone, and you gotta know that's the truth." Bobby wanted to believe it just as much as Sam did, he just couldn't. He knew deep down inside that the girl was dead, just like the other two.

"I don't know Bobby, he was pretty out of it when we were talking, and I know there's a lot more he needs to tell us. What if he just didn't get a chance to? They did take him out of here pretty quick. What if all those drugs just knocked him out too fast and he was going to tell us where she is? What if he…"

"What if you quit starting every phrase with 'what if'? Damn it Sam, stop torturing yourself. There's no way in hell Dean would let that girl die if there was something he coulda done about it, you know that. Hell, that boy woulda crawled outta here and tried to save her himself if he thought he had half a chance." Bobby bit his tongue the second he said that, knowing Sam was not going to take it the way it was meant. No, he was going to put the Sam Winchester spin on it.

"Bobby, you don't think that's what he was trying to do, do you?"

"No Sam, I don't. He was trying to stop us from torching those remains, remember? That's all, nothing more. He said so himself, so just let it go for now, will ya? There ain't a damn thing we can do 'till we talk to him, so sit your ass down and wait before I sit you down myself." _"Why is talking to a Winchester like talking to a brick wall sometimes?' _He wondered to himself, and on a regular basis at that.

Tired and momentarily defeated, Sam did just that, plopping into a chair across from the older hunter as he crossed his arms over his chest, threw out a pouted lip, and started sulking, the repetitive tapping of his foot on the floor a welcome change from the constant pace now, but annoying in it's own way nonetheless. No matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn't get the thoughts out of his head. Everything Bobby said made perfect sense, but until he heard it from Dean, he just wouldn't believe it. After sitting for all of five minutes with his leg bouncing a mile a minute, Sam uncrossed his arms and stood, needing to start his pacing once again. Bobby's look silently said it all, and Sam knew he better take his pace elsewhere.

"I'm going to get some coffee, you want some?" _'Yeah, a nice, long hall to pace while I continue this grueling wait.' _was what that translated into.

"Sam, if it'll keep your pacing out there a little longer instead of in here, then I'll take a whole damn pot," he told him, not trying to sound too irritated, but lack of sleep and lack of patience making it come out that way anyway.

Sam just dropped his head and made for the door, his gaze fixed firmly on his shoelaces as he walked and thought. He'd made it out the door and just a few short steps down the hall before he slammed into the back of the man standing just outside the room, the clipboard he'd been writing on and the pen he'd been writing on it with both sailing through the air and clattering on the floor as he fell forward into the nurse directly in front of him, all three landing like dominoes tipping over one after another. Sam was the first to his feet, followed by the poor nurse, both of them extending a helping hand to the third domino still sprawled out on the floor.

"Oh god, I'm sorry Dr. Horton, I never saw you there. Are you ok?" He asked, giving the man a quick yank to pull him upright.

"Yeah Sam, I'm fine. Just on my way to talk to you as a matter of fact," he replied as he stood, waving off the nurse now standing before him with his unfinished paperwork to indicate he'd take care of it later.

"How's Dean? Where's Dean?" Sam anxiously asked before the man had any chance whatsoever to speak.

"He's fine Sam. He's probably on his way back up right now and will be here any minute. Everything went well, no permanent damage anywhere. I've decided not to replace the cast. I think we can go without that heavy thing from here on out, as long as he stays in the bed and off the floor. Dr. Waterson has opted to continue the epidural for now, so don't expect your brother to have too much feeling in his legs any time soon. Don't worry, that's normal. I'm sure Trent will be up in a while to talk to you too. Dean is still pretty heavily sedated still, which means he'll probably be asleep for a while, and from what I see, I'd suggest you do the same. You look like crap, if you don't mind me saying so. Get some sleep before I come back this afternoon, doctor's orders."

Sam visibly relaxed more and more as Dr. Horton spoke to him, one very heavy weight finally removed from his shoulders, but still leaving one behind. He didn't want his brother to be asleep for 'a while'. He wanted to talk to him now. When he finally resigned himself to the fact that it just wasn't going to happen, he slumped his shoulders and decided to take the doctor's advice.

"Sleep sounds like a great idea. Thanks again, for everything," Sam shook the man's hand before heading back down the hall, never once realizing Dean was back inside until he heard the voices coming from the room. _'So much for a while. Guess he doesn't know Dean very well, does he?'_

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Dean watched as images paraded around in his head with no real particular order, memories he somehow knew were his that he just couldn't put into any sort of chronology. He felt like he was floating weightlessly in a sea of nothing, his arms and legs limp and useless at his sides, his eyelids too heavy to open, even just a slit. He tried as hard as he could to force them up, but something was preventing them from coming apart, he just wasn't sure what.

"Sam," he called out, his groggy voice raspy as it came out of his parched mouth and throat. He felt a hand on his shoulder before he heard the voice that wasn't Sam's talking back to him, and it immediately made him tense up, his mind somewhat on alert now.

"Hey Dean," Bobby said in a rather calming tone, one he'd never heard from the man before as it made him tense up even more.

"Bobby?" The sound of the man's voice confused him somewhat as he ran a hand awkwardly over his own face, trying to pry his eyelids apart, but somehow not being able to find them. He just gave up after slapping himself hard in the face a few times and let his arm fall back to the bed. The memories that had been hazily hanging around earlier had apparently made themselves pretty scarce now, not one of them deciding to stick around and help him remember where the hell he was, and that only made him even more jittery, especially since he still hadn't heard a word from Sam yet. "Bobby, where am I." He knew he should know, but he just couldn't remember and really didn't have the energy to try.

"You're back in your room," he told him, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, not liking the fact that Dean didn't know where he was.

"My room? What room?" Dean was starting to sound a little panicked, and Bobby knew he'd have to choose his words carefully.

"You're in the hospital. Don't you remember?" Bobby watched as Dean's forehead scrunched up in concentration as he tried to remember what he should already know, where he was and what he was doing there for some reason still escaping him. '_Hospital, Bobby said hospital. Accident, we had some kind of accident, didn't we?' _Still now word from Sam, and a vague recollection of an accident put Dean in just about full blown panic mode now.

"We had an accident, didn't we?" He asked as he tried sitting himself up, his eyes still glued shut and his body taut as he struggled to pull himself up from the bed. "Oh god Bobby, what happened? Where's my brother, where's Sam?"

"Calm down Dean, Sam's…"

"I'm right here Dean," Sam interrupted as he took Bobby's place next to the bed, the older man stepping down to give the younger brother room as Sam rested his hand on his Dean's arm when he heard the fear and anxiety dominating his usually cool voice. He felt a little of the tension coming from Dean abate when he touched him, but only a little. There was still something wrong, he could feel it.

"Sammy, are you alright? Tell me you're alright," he demanded, the sound of Sam's voice and the reassuring grip he felt still not enough to calm him yet.

"I'm fine Dean. You do remember what happened, don't you?" Now it was Sam's turn to feel confused.

"I think we had an accident, right? My car, is my car alright Sam? Please tell me I didn't wreck my car!" The demand was less frantic then the first, and Sam was starting to really worry about his brother's lack of recollection. How could he have forgotten the last three days?

"The car's fine too, we didn't have an accident in the car. Dean, are you alright?"

"If you're alright and the car's alright, then I'm alright," he told his brother, his body finally relaxing when he realized all his ducks were still in a row. "What happened Sam? I don't know why I can't remember, I just can't."

"You really don't remember, do you?" Sam questioned, his own mind feeling some sort of panic start to creep inside. _'This is not happening, he has to remember, he just has to."_

"Not really. Everything's too fuzzy. Please Sam, what's going on? Why can't I open my eyes? Why can't I move?" Fear and confusion were now starting to mix together, and Sam could hear it in the begging tone coming out.

He studied his brother's face carefully and could clearly see why Dean's eyes wouldn't open, the dry crust of sleep fusing the lids together to keep them shut. He reached for the water on the bedside tray, and finding nothing else readily available, bunched up the corner of the blanket that was covering him, soaked it, and tried to moisten his brother's eyes enough for them to open. He wiped at Dean's face gently, prying the lids apart himself as he watched his brother blink a few times and focus his blurry vision in Sam's direction, the sigh of relief at the sight of an alive and well Sam clearly audible.

"That better?" He asked, seeing Dean relax just a little bit more, but feeling his body was still a little wired about something yet. He shook his head in response to Sam before asking his next question, needing to gather a little courage before he did.

"Sam, why can't I feel my legs? Am I …" there was that tension again, his body going rigid as he tried to say the last word, and Sam felt it coming from him waves. He didn't let him finish, knowing what he was about to ask and wanting to spare him from having to say it.

"No Dean, you're not paralyzed. You just got out of surgery and you're still numb, that's all. Really, you're fine, I promise. God, I can't believe you can't remember anything," Sam shot Bobby a '_What the hell are we going to do now' _look when he saw Dean's eyes drift closed again, the need to sleep now that he knew his world was all in order too great to resist. That's all the conversation Sam would get for now, at least from Dean as he silently fell back asleep.

"It's probably the sedatives," announced the voice of Dr. Waterson from the door as he approached, both men startled when they'd heard it, the third one in the bed just continuing his slumber. "They tend to have that effect on the brain. Not to worry, memory loss is perfectly normal."

"You mean he may never remember the last couple days?" Sam asked, pretty sure it was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.

"It's a possibility. He may remember, he may not. Only time will tell," Trent smiled, knowing that if Dean couldn't remember anything, he couldn't remember him, and that would buy him some time to figure out exactly what to do with the elder brother. All he needed to do was keep him doped up enough to suppress his memories, but not enough to arouse any suspicions. That would be the easy part. Getting rid of Dean permanently, well, that would be the hard part. Yeah, that was going to require some thought.

"Anything else we need to know," Bobby questioned, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to stand on end when he realized the doctor had probably been eavesdropping the entire time.

"He'll probably be in and out of it like that for the next few days. It's the only way to make sure he's not in any more pain then he needs to be in. But don't worry, with all the rest he's going to get, he'll be as good an new in no time. Now if you'll excuse me, I've been up all night, and frankly I'm about ready to drop. Don't hesitate to call me if you have any questions, and good night gentlemen." He didn't even wait to see if there were any question, he just rudely walked out the door, leaving both men speechless with their mouths hanging wide open.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked first, finally finding something to say that didn't require the use of four letter words other then hell. "Great bedside manner. Glad I didn't have a million questions that still need answers."

"He sure is an one arrogant son-of-a-bitch, isn't he. I told you I didn't like him," was all Bobby could think to say in response.

"Bobby, what are we going to do if he can't remember anything? How the hell are we supposed to figure this all out without his help?" Sam asked the obvious, leaving only 999,998 questions left.

"I don't know Sam, and honestly, I'm too damn tired to try figuring it out, and so are you. First we're gonna sleep, then we're gonna think. Maybe by then, something'll come back to him. Turn off the light and get some rest." Bobby rested his head against the back of the chair he'd sat himself in and closed his eyes, ending the conversation. Sam just did as he was told and shut off the lights. His eyes were closed and his body deep into sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was nearly five in the afternoon by the time Sam woke up, and he could have continued to sleep if it hadn't been for Bobby shaking him rather vigorously and bellowing in his ear for him to rise and shine. He just let out a groan and rolled over, turning his back to the human alarm clock disturbing his much needed snooze.

"Damn it Sam, wake your ass up, we've got work to do," he heard the man say, and in a rather annoyed tone of voice at that.

"What do you mean, 'we've got work to do'? What work?" Sam mumbled as he rolled over again, this time facing Bobby as he fully opened his eyes, quickly bolting upright when the thought crossed his mind that maybe Bobby knew something now that he didn't know the night before. "Is Dean awake? Did he remember something?"

Sam couldn't hide the excitement in his voice as he stood, but was totally deflated when his first glance was at Dean, who hadn't moved a muscle all day, then to the TV that was on next to him. He watched the live news report as police started spreading out yellow tape from tree to tree, and listened to what the reporter was saying very carefully.

'Responding to an anonymous tip, a Channel 4 news crew made a grisly discovery just minutes ago. The body of a young woman was found in a ditch just off this road that I'm standing on right now, the apparent victim of a hit and run. Although police are refusing to comment at the moment, the body does fit the description of missing local woman Claire Talbot, who disappeared early yesterday morning. As you can see behind me…"

"I'm going out there to the scene to see what I can find out. You try waking his ass up and see if you can jog his memory somehow, because I'd really hate to have to figure this all out the old fashioned way. Who knows how much time we have before he gets the itch again, so the sooner we stop him, the better." Bobby threw Sam a wave as he walked out the door, leaving Sam with what could quite possibly be an impossible task, and obviously the clock was ticking.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sam stood and stretched, the cracking and popping of various joints a welcome feeling when they settled into their proper places throughout his stiff frame. Reaching for the TV, he turned the volume down instead of off, wanting to keep an eye peeled on it at all times, hoping he could catch something useful. He didn't need them telling him who the dead girl they'd found was, he already knew, and according to Dean, she would be victim number three. Obviously, Dean had been right.

He quickly turned his attention away from the news and towards his brother, who hadn't moved or stirred since he'd passed out after their all too brief conversation earlier in the morning, the conversation that had most definitely not gone the way he'd hoped it would. As he slid up to Dean's bedside, he prayed this attempt would go better.

He stood there for a minute, just watching his brother sleep and dreaded waking him when he noticed how pale and haggard his face had become, everything that had happened to him over the last day or so clearly written across his features in bold, black print that Sam wished he could just erase away. _'If it were only that easy,' _he thought while he watched the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, that being the only movement he'd made since he'd studied him last.

"Dean, can you hear me?" He asked as he gently shook his brother's shoulder, trying to rouse him as softly as possible. The movement and the question did nothing to disturb the deep sleep Dean had lapsed into, the sleep he'd been in for well over twelve hours now.

"Come on man, open your eyes and talk to me," he said a little more forcefully, the nudge he gave him a little more forceful right along with it.

"Leave me alone Sammy… I'm not going to school today. Let me sleep and you can have the rest of the Lucky Charms, ok? I promise I won't kick your ass for it if you just leave me alone." His words were soft and slurred, his voice raspy as it came out. "Where's Dad? Is he back yet?"

"No Dean, Dad's not back yet, and we don't have school today. Can you open your eyes and look at me? Please…I really need to talk to you." Sam had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that this conversation was going to go nowhere really fast now that Dean had seemingly reverted back to their childhood, and he all but begged him with his tone of voice to rejoin the conscious world again.

"Sam, what's wrong? Are you ok?" Dean questioned, his scratchy voice coming out almost totally hoarse and filled with concern as he struggled to sit up when he'd heard the way Sam had said the question.

"Relax Dean, I'm fine," Sam quickly answered as he laid his hand flat against his brother's chest and forced him back down, the move requiring little to no effort against the small amount of strength Dean had in him. He didn't like the warmth he felt coming from Dean's body through the paper thin hospital gown covering him, the feeling causing a frown to instantly form when he laid his hand across his brother's forehead and felt the same heat there as well.

"Sam…the hand," Dean coughed to him in an almost irritated tone as he tried slapping the offending appendage away, but not really being able to lift his arm up enough to make any real contact.

"You're warm Dean…how do you feel?" He posed the question, pretty sure the annoying mothering hand had brought him to his senses just a little.

"Tired…thirsty…head hurts," he whispered, not really wanting to put forth the effort anymore. The more he laid there listening to Sam's questions, the more his head felt like it was in a vice and each word turned the crank a little more. He felt the back of the bed start to rise enough to bring him upright just enough for him to sip at the water his brother, at least he assumed it was his brother, had stuck in his face without choking.

"Here's some water, drink it slow," he'd heard Sam tell him, and he did just that. His mouth and throat felt like he'd fallen asleep in the Mohave Desert, breathing through his mouth all night in a raging sandstorm and the cold water going down it now was like a heavenly oasis sent directly from God himself. "Better?" Sam asked when he'd finally had enough, hearing the straw sucking nothing but air in the now empty cup.

"Yeah, thanks," he answered, his voice still thick with sleep, but no longer sounding like Pazuzu from the 'Exorcist' anymore. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam that Dean still hadn't opened his eyes yet, not even a sliver.

"How bad does your head hurt Dean? Scale from one to ten." He knew his brother would lie to him, but asked anyway.

"Twelve." Totally not the answer Sam was expecting, and he couldn't hide his surprise when he'd heard it.

"Your head hurts that bad? How could your head hurt that bad Dean? You've got more drugs in you then Lindsay Lohan at a Hollywood rave." He'd said it so loud, the dead in the basement probably heard it when it came out.

"Don't know Sammy…it just does, and please stop yelling at me," he'd been awake for all of ten minutes, and he'd already had enough. He loved his brother, but right now he wished Sam would just go away and leave him alone.

He got half his wish when he'd heard his brother start talking to someone else and tuned his ears to semi listen, not really caring to much about what they were saying but somewhat paying attention, knowing they were talking about him.

"Hi Sam. We just saw your uncle leave and thought maybe Dean was finally awake," one of the nurses announced as she came in.

"Yeah, he's awake. Where's the doctor? I think he has a fever, and he says his head hurts, hurts bad." He heard Sam's reply and felt a little tinge of guilt when he noticed it was filled worry. He felt guilty, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it, even if he wanted to.

The nurse had a calm, soothing voice as she responded to Sam's worried comments and he wished he could open his eyes to see the face that went along with it, but he knew that would be a bad idea right now. "The doctor already knows Sam, and he's on his way. We noticed it hours ago while you were sleeping, but your uncle said not to disturb you, so we didn't. He thinks it's just a reaction to the drugs, nothing more. It happens all the time, so you really shouldn't worry about it. As for the headache, I think I can help that right now," she told him as she shot Dean up with something that would probably send him right back into La La Land again.

"Is that going to knock him into next week like it usually does?" Sam asked, wondering if he was ever going to be able to talk to his brother today.

"I hope not, because now that he's awake, his doctor wants him to eat something. Liquid diet for now I'm afraid, but it's better then nothing," she slowly started raising the bed up just a little more and made a move towards Dean before Sam stopped her right where she stood.

"I'll do it. Trust me, he won't drink that if you try to give it to him. Just leave it here and let me take care of it," he smiled at her and somehow she knew he was right.

"Promise? It's my job if he doesn't," she smiled back.

"I promise," he reassured her, and she believed him. She left the room, half closing the door behind her, but Sam could almost picture her standing just outside in the hallway and listening, making him want to chuckle somewhat.

"Not hungry Sam…don't want it," he'd heard Dean mumble and knew his brother had heard every word.

"You haven't had anything in your stomach since early yesterday afternoon Dean."

"Neither have you Sam. You drink it, you need it more then I do," he retorted, finally finding the strength in his defiance to open his eyes now that someone finally silenced half the jackhammers in his head. Sam knew this game all too well and wasn't playing it this time. No, he was going directly for checkmate.

"Dean, I'm not eating or drinking a damn thing until you do first, so what's it gonna be? You going to make me starve to death?" He knew exactly where to hit him where'd it hurt the most.

"Blackmail Sam? That's not fair," he whined as he stared at Sam's puppy dog eyes.

"No Dean, it's more like extortion. Bottom's up then?" He grinned as he pointed another straw in his brother's direction and waited.

"Bitch," he mumbled, begrudgingly giving into his brother's demands.

"Jerk," he whispered back as the small grin spread wider across his face. They sat in near silence for the short time it took Dean to carry out Sam's order, the chocolaty crap he was drinking a little chalky, but really not all that bad.

Sam waited until he was almost done before bringing up the subject now that Dean seemed to be a little more 'with it'. "Dean, do you remember anything? Anything at all about last few days?"

"Bits and pieces, that's it," he told him as his eyes started drifting closed, the lids almost too heavy to keep open anymore. _'Guess he's not as __**with it **__as I thought.'_

"Hey, stay with me Dean, just a little longer. Can you tell me what you do remember?"

"Her. I remember her," he answered, his eyes barely open and his voice not more then a mumble now.

"What about her? Come on Dean, it's important." He hoped Dean couldn't hear the desperation in his voice, but knowing him, he probably did.

"He killed her Sammy, and now she's stuck in my head with me," he trailed off even more, barely holding on the consciousness he had.

Sam frantically tried to get more out of him now that he remembered, giving Dean a hard shake this time, needing to get the memories out of him before they were lost in oblivion again, not sure how long he'd be able to retain them now that he had a hold of them. "Who killed her Dean? Tell me who killed her."

"Excuse me, I heard voices. Is Dean awake?"

The overly chipper voice echoed throughout the room, pissing Sam off more then he'd ever been pissed off before. He was two seconds from an answer, two seconds away from being able to finally end all this and give his brother the peace he needed to recover. Looking down at Dean and seeing him right back in that deep sleep he'd dragged him from, he knew the moment was lost, and he was still standing at the door, waiting for someone to open it and let him inside.

"He was, but he's not now," Sam told him, irritation filling his voice to the brim at the unwanted intrusion.

He watched the man walk fully into the room, his attention caught momentarily by the images on the silenced TV before redirecting it to Dean, who seemed blissfully unaware of the doctor's presence as he approached him. He was mumbling in his sleep something neither one could make out, other then the name he'd mentioned. Dr. Waterson stood calm and cool, hiding his surprise when he clearly heard the name 'Trish' come from Dean's lips, his curiosity fully peaked at just what the man knew of his dearly departed sister.

"Good evening Sam," he addressed the younger brother in an overly boisterous tone, a tone that only seemed to irritate Sam more.

"Dr. Waterson, feeling better this afternoon," the question was filled with nothing but sarcasm as he asked it.

"Much better, thank you… and it's Trent, please. How about our patient here, I hear we may have a problem or two cropping up."

"You heard right…wait…a problem or two? What's the two?"

"He's got a low-grade fever and his blood pressure is still a little higher then it should be. It may just be his body reacting to the various medications, but we're going to run some blood tests just to make sure there's no infections brewing anywhere. You really don't need to be worried Sam, it's probably nothing," Trent smiled what looked to be a rehearsed, totally fake, plastered on smile at him, and Sam was fully starting to get the same feelings he was sure Bobby had had the night before, his own mind being too preoccupied to notice at the time.

Sam watched as Trent pulled back the blanket, but looked away when he lifted the hospital attire up as he caught just a momentary glimpse of the stitches he really hadn't wanted to see, letting his eyes fall on his brother's still sleeping face. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the doctor was pushing here and pressing there, and for a second he actually thought he saw Dean's face twist up in pain, but as quickly as it came, it was gone, and he wasn't even really sure he'd seen it at all. Trent had made various sounds as his examination continued, all of them not really ominous in any way, and that made him feel just a little better.

"Everything seems to be fine," he said with that damn smile still spread across his features, only this time it looked genuine. With the ice finally broken, at least in his opinion, he asked Sam what he really came to the room to find out. "So, did he have any recollection of the last few days when you spoke to him?"

"I don't know, a little, but you interrupted us before I could finish asking him, then he fell back asleep," he'd said, that irritation returning to his voice when he thought again about how close he'd been to learning the whole truth.

"My apologies for the bad timing," Trent unconvincingly told Sam, but it was just what he'd wanted to hear. Somehow Dean knew something about Trish, and he had to keep him quiet until he could find out for himself exactly what it was. He had the syringe already loaded and ready to go in his pocket, and he was glad he did now that he'd learned the memories were starting to return. He pulled it from his pocket and casually added it to the drip all before Sam could say or do anything.

"What was that for?" Sam wanted to know, the question coming out when the deed was already done.

"Just something to keep his muscles relaxed, that's all. You really worry too much Sam. We're the doctors, let us do our jobs." Again, that arrogant attitude and phony smile Sam already hated flashed before him, and he just wanted to punch it right off his smug face. He was angry now, and he was going to spill, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked the man dead in the eyes as his own eyes narrowed and his nostrils started flaring, and let him have it.

"That's my brother, and he's damn lucky to be alive. Do NOT tell me I worry about him too much. If anything, I don't worry about him enough. Maybe if you'd worried about your sister a little bit more, my brother wouldn't be laying there like a zombie right now without a clue as to what the hell happened to him!" Sam knew that wasn't fair, it really hadn't been his sisters fault, at least according to Dean, but the man had pushed him too far with his arrogant 'holier then thou' attitude and he intended on putting him in his place. He watched Trent's face go blank, and the cold look he'd gotten in his eyes was a little unsettling.

"My apologies again Sam. You're right, and you're brother is a very lucky man to have someone that cares for him as much as you do. If you'll excuse me, I think I've worn out my welcome here today. Have a nice evening Sam, and I will see you some time tomorrow." He turned and walked out the door silently, closing it behind him as he did.

"Sam…he's…one…" Dean was trying to say something, it just wouldn't come out in complete words.

"Yeah, I know Dean, he's an asshole. Tell me something I don't already know."

"No…he's…" He couldn't finish the thought as his mind drifted back to that dark, sleep filled place once again, the place he'd rudely been pulled from but really didn't want to go back to now. He fought to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and within seconds, his lights were out once again.

More knocking at the door, and Sam really thought he'd had his fill of visitors for the day, his mood not really being able to handle anymore. He ignored the new intruder, and hoped it would just go away, but wondered who he thought he was kidding. He was in a hospital after all, the knock wasn't requesting permission to enter, it was a warning that someone was coming in whether he liked it or not.

"Sam, you in there?" The familiar female tone called out from the partially open door, and it did wait for his permission before it entered, which he gladly gave.

"Yeah, I'm here. Come in, if you dare." He belted back as his anger subsided a little.

He watched the pretty, blonde woman cautiously come through the doorway, closing the door behind her as she did. "Had a run in with the personable Dr. Waterson, huh? Great doctor, but man, he's the biggest dickhead I've ever met." Julia giggled, trying to make Sam feel better, which it did, a little.

"Did you hear any of that?" He'd asked, turning slightly red with embarrassment at the thought that someone had been listening to his outburst.

"No, I just saw him come through the door and storm down the hall to the elevator. You must have gotten him good, I've never seen him lose his cool like that before. He's usually an emotionless machine, nice to see he's actually human after all." She chuckled, enjoying Sam's small victory.

"That's debatable," Sam laughed right back, feeling somewhat better still, but not much.

"Hey, you don't think you're brother keeps having these episodes because he's avoiding me, do you? It might give me a complex." She continued the lighthearted conversation, trying to help Sam release his pent up tension before round two of the doctor visits of the day came.

"Nah, he's never been intimidated by a women. I think he's just doing it for the attention."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it's not me. Seriously, if we don't get working with him soon, he's never going to get out of that bed. Tell him when he wakes up to stop avoiding me, and his life will become a whole lot easier," she smiled one more genuine smile at him now that he wasn't ready to blow a vein anymore and threw him a wave as she left.

She walked out the door, oblivious to the set of eyes that watched her from the elevator as she approached the nurses station and engaged one of them in conversation. He watched her every move, studying her carefully as she chitchatted and flipped through the paperwork on the desk. Her mannerisms were much like Trish's had been, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. She would make a fine addition to his collection, but this one he wouldn't end right away. No, he was going to make this one last. He had plans for her. He ducked into the stairwell when he'd seen his nemesis approach, not wanting any sort of confrontation to draw attention to the two of them and raise suspicions.

Julia frowned slightly when she saw him coming, and he saw the facial expression she shot him immediately. She wanted to head him off before he went into the room to see for himself what the hell was going on inside, and she planned on giving him the 'heads up' before he even made it through the door. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew there was no good reason for Dr. Waterson to be keeping Dean that drugged up, to the point that he was nearly comatose again, and she fully intended to voice her opinion about it.

"Dr. Horton, can I talk to you…in private," she'd quietly asked, all eyes within earshot suddenly trained on her. He nodded as he grabbed the chart from the desk and motioned for her to walk with him to the door. She stopped him when they were well out of range for anyone else to hear before she let her feelings fly. "Mark, what the hell is going on with that patient? Other then his muscles being weak, there was nothing wrong with him the other day, and now he's practically a vegetable. Look at his chart. Why is Dr.Waterson giving him Ativan post-op? What could he possibly still need that kind of sedation for, along with all the pain meds too? I know I'm overstepping my boundaries, but come on, how's he ever going to get better if he's always drugged out of his mind? I'd be surprised if he can even remember his own name right now with that dosage."

Mark said nothing, just flipped through the notes that Trent had written before leaving only minutes before, and asked himself the very same question. He'd been suspicious of Trent during the surgery, but was more suspicious now. There was something wrong here, very wrong. He made his own notes here and there before responding to Julia's concerns, but when he did, he knew shit may hit the fan. At this point though, he really didn't care. He could dodge flying shit with the best of them.

"Julia, can you try finding them a decent place to stay that's close? I have a feeling the only way he's getting better is if he's out of here, and maybe the change of environment will do him good."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" She questioned, now regretting she'd even opened her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm stopping all these damn drugs now, and I really want him out of here by tomorrow afternoon, and completely out of Trent's care as of right now. I'm calling Mr. Waterson the second I walk out of that room, and I'm going to tell him exactly what we're doing, and why. It's high time he put a leash on that kid."

"Ok, if you say so. You know I love you, I just hope we don't end up mopping floors next week." She kissed him on the cheek as she walked away, leaving him to figure out exactly how he was going to pull this off.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Bobby pulled up to the scene in record time, parking his old, beat-up pickup far enough away from the news trucks and squad cars as he possibly could so that nobody would see it or question why someone in his position was driving such a piece of crap in the first place. He walked up to the yellow police tape and flashed the fresh, young uniformed cop guarding it's border a stern look and a fake badge, and was allowed to cross the line without a second glance. Local and state police stood around scratching their heads and quietly talking amongst themselves, but not one of them had made any move towards the body that lay still in the bed of fallen leaves, most of it's form obscured by a couple well placed police cruisers and totally out of sight of the news cameras. He approached one small group of men confidently and started putting on his show, all each one of them looking at him curiously.

"Detective Roberts, Illinois State Police," he announced, extending a hand in greeting to each and every one of the three men standing in the circle, presumably with their thumbs well up their asses as they waited for something to happen.

"What's the Fibbies doing here?" One of the men asked sarcastically, eyeing Bobby up and down. "That standard dress for detectives in Illinois these days?"

Looking at his attire, he knew that crack was coming, and had already prepared his answer for it, like the seasoned hunter/bullshitter he was. "Was already up here fishing when I got the call. So much for the day off."

They all shook their heads at that, Bobby figuring at least one of them, if not all of them, was supposed to have the day off today too. "Yeah, I hear ya. Illinois huh? I thought they were sending someone from the FBI."

Bobby knew he had to talk fast if the FBI was on the way, he sure as hell didn't want to be there when they arrived. Fooling the Wisconsin locals was one thing, but screwing with the feds was another. "Just checking out what you've got here. We've had four unsolved homicides in the last year, same MO, same victim description. Don't want to rule anything out. Mind if I take a look so I can maybe get back to my fishing today?"

"Nah, knock yourself out, just don't touch anything. Feds want the scene undisturbed for their people."

He walked quickly but carefully to the corpse, and didn't need to get all that close to see why the Feds were coming. She was definitely not the victim of a hit and run, unless the driver had stopped to lay her out on her back with her arms crossed delicately over her blood stained chest, a rosary intertwined with her fingers to make her look like she had simply fallen asleep while praying, one single pink rose resting in the soft spot of her throat, the stem laying between her breasts. Bobby had seen that exact look before, the pose was exactly like Trish's had been when they dug her up, and knew she was definitely victim number three.

"The other victim, she found done up the same way?" He asked, pretty sure he already knew what he would hear.

"Yep, splayed out just like that, white dress, rosary, pink rose and all. Thought the first one may just be a jilted lover or something, but she didn't have any old or new boyfriends that we could find. Investigation's pretty much gone cold, until now. Once we looked in her mouth, we knew we had a repeater."

"Her mouth?" Bobby inquired, wondering if this is what he'd hoped he'd hear.

"Yep, her tongue's missing, just like the first one. Blatant signature, if you ask me. Guy's a sick and twisted freak, taking the tongues like that, but I guess they all want their trophies, don't they. Don't really want to know what's he's using them for."

The light bulb in Bobby's head was suddenly burning red hot when he'd heard that, and he decided to take a shot in the dark to see how bright the light was and what it could illuminate. "Hey, that rich girl that almost killed that kid and died in that accident a few weeks back, wasn't she missing her tongue too?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?" The only officer speaking questioned, looking somewhat suspicious and making Bobby feel like he'd overstayed his welcome.

"Don't know, heard it somewhere. You think there's a connection with these two?" _'Yeah, there's a connection.' _He thought.

"Nope, that was definitely an accident, no doubt about it. So, how 'bout it, does it look like this is your man?"

"Nah, my guy just dumped the bodies and didn't take nothing with him when he did. Too bad, was kinda hopin' we were on to something," he lied, suddenly anxious to get the hell out of there. He didn't need to hear anymore to know why the salt and burn hadn't worked. "Thanks fellas, guess I can go back to my boat. Hope the fish are still biting. Good luck with this one, you may need it."

Bobby didn't wait for any goodbyes as he turned to leave, his pace quick and determined as he made his way back to his truck. He fired up the engine and took off, speeding most of the way back and hoping Sam had had some luck with Dean. Now that they knew what they were looking for, they just needed to know where to look, and unfortunately the only one that could tell them didn't even have a clue where he was or how he'd gotten there. One thought ran through his head as he drove, and it was an almost undeniable fact in his opinion. Trish's death had been made to look like an accident, her body left unceremoniously bleeding behind the wheel in that mangled car crumpled against a tree, but the other two had been displayed with an almost loving care that practically screamed of guilt. Bobby wasn't entirely sure, but had a pretty good idea whoever it was had known Trish personally, and if Dean couldn't remember anything, that was at least somewhere to start.

It was just about dark by the time Bobby returned, his body tired and his gait slow. He hadn't slept much earlier, the relative discomfort of the chair he was in and the worry he felt for both brother's welfare putting him a little too much on edge to doze for more then the four hours he had. The second he stepped off the elevator and onto the floor, all the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end when he realized all eyes were trained on him as he walked down the hall to the door. He knew something was wrong the instant he returned the stares and all eyes immediately drifted to the floor as they busied themselves, the sinking feeling it caused making him step up his pace, feeling all the eyes right back on him again when he entered the room and his mouth dropped to the floor.

The room was dark, the only rays of light coming from the small overhead lamp above the bed that had been set so dim it barely illuminated Dean's face as he lay there, and Bobby could hear more then see that something was very wrong. He knew that sound all too well from years of hunts gone bad, that sound of machines doing the breathing for those that couldn't do it for themselves, and searched the darkness for any sign of Sam.

"Sam…are you here?" He called out into the dark and almost jumped when he got a response from the pitch black corner next to him as a tall, thin shadow emerged from it and into what little light there was..

"Right here Bobby," he answered, his eyes puffy and bloodshot from what he could only image.

"What the hell happened after I left?" He asked the younger brother, desperate to know how things could have gone downhill that much in just under two hours.

"I'm gonna kill him Bobby, I swear to god I am," Sam seethed, his anger painfully apparent.

"Hold your horses boy, you're gonna kill who?" Bobby was shocked, he'd never heard Sam threaten to kill anyone before and knew this had to be bad.

"Dr. Waterson, that's who. He did this to Dean, and I'm gonna kill him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Horton stood there just outside the door, contemplating exactly how he should handle this whole situation. He could find no good reason for Trent's course of treatment, and frankly didn't really want to ask. His behavior had become rather bazaar over the last few weeks since his sister had died, it damn near bordering on anti-social at times. He hadn't had much of a personality to begin with, but now he was just a walking, talking soulless lump of flesh and bone with almost nothing inside. The only thing he could think of at the moment was that maybe Dean just brought back bad memories for him he'd rather not face, so he'd just keep him drugged up enough to not have to. _'No problem there'_, he thought, fully intending on removing Trent from the picture altogether. If he was that disturbed with treating Dean, then he just wouldn't have to anymore. He was just about ready to enter and talk to Sam when the door flew open itself, the force behind it smashing it hard against the wall of the entryway as Sam came rushing out in a frantic near run, his voice full of nothing but panic.

His eyes instantly fell on Dr. Horton, who was essentially standing directly in front of him now, and fear started rising in the pit of his own stomach when he saw the desperation on Sam's face. He'd seen that particular look a lot over the last few weeks and was starting to get pretty used to it now.

"Something's wrong, Dean's barely breathing!" He damn near shrieked as he grabbed hold of the doctor's arm and dragged him inside, the sudden movement almost making him stumble. The commotion caught the attention of just about everyone else on the floor, and a few nurses came running as Dr. Horton was pulled inside and disappeared. The nurses were used to this by now too; there was never a dull moment in that room anymore since he'd come out of his coma.

Dr. Horton couldn't initially see anything amiss when Sam pushed him to the bed, and had Sam not already told him what was wrong he would have thought Dean was just in a really deep state of sleep, until he heard the labored breath he sucked in, then nothing after. For the few moments he watched, he'd seen Dean draw in air twice, but other then that, it was the only two breaths he'd taken, his lips starting to turn an ominous shade of blue. He didn't need to tell the nurses what to do, they were already doing it like the well oiled machine they were.

"Blood pressure's tanking and respiration is nearly non-existent," Sam heard someone say, and the sudden need to vomit hit him like a runaway truck on the toll way.

"Sam, how long has he been like this?" Dr. Horton posed, his mind already formulating an opinion of what was going on when he heard what the nurses were telling him.

'I don't know, I noticed it right after Julia left. He started breathing heavy, then just stopped breathing altogether. God damn it, what's wrong now?" Sam was obviously way beyond panic as he watched them stick that infernal tube back down his brother's throat and start pumping away at that god awful bag and Dr. Horton could clearly see in his eyes he was about to lose it.

"Sam, look at me," he ordered, forcing him to turn his gaze away from the scene and at him instead as he walked him away from the bed. "Who's been in here to see him today, other then Julia?"

"That nurse over there,' Sam pointed in the direction of the woman currently pumping air into Dean's lungs, "and Dr. Waterson."

"What did Trent have to say? Did he indicate there was any problems, anything we should be watching?"

"He said Dean's blood pressure was too high, told me not to be worried about the fever he had, then gave him something before we…had words, then he left. If his blood pressure was too high then, why's it so low now?"

"Did he say what he gave him? It's important Sam." he continued interrogating, ignoring Sam's question for the time being.

It hadn't been that long ago, but Sam had already forgotten what Dr. Waterson had said, other immediate concerns pushing the memory from his mind. "I think he said a muscle relaxant or something, but I'm really not sure."

Dr. Horton nodded and raised a finger indicating to Sam he'd be right back Sam watched him walk in seemingly slow motion back to the bed and directly to the nurse Sam had pointed out to him. He said just a few words before she handed off the bag to someone else and stepped away with Dr. Horton on her arm. They exchanged words for a few moments, her doing most of the talking as his face silently announced his aggravation, then mouthed something back to her as she shook her head, before returning to Sam.

"Sam, we need to talk, in private. Let's go outside," he told him, grabbing him by the arm and starting to walk him towards the door, Sam's defiance coming almost immediately.

"No, I need to stay here…I need to know what's wrong."

"Dean's going to be fine Sam, trust me. Just come outside with me and I'll explain everything to you," he once again tried pulling Sam away, and this time he followed, the promise of being told what was happening an enticing piece of bait.

Dr. Horton walked quickly out the door and down the hall with Sam close behind, stopping only when he knew they were totally alone. Sam wasted no time once they'd stopped walking , his stomach tied in so many knots now he could barely breathe himself. "Dr. Horton, please…what's going on? He was ok when he woke up, except for the headache. We were talking, and he was even starting to remember some things he couldn't this morning. What the hell happened?"

Dr. Horton could se Sam was overly agitated and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he spoke to him in as calm a voice as he could gather, "It's about time you just call me Mark, ok?" Sam nodded as he continued, "What I'm about to tell you needs to stay between us for now Sam, it cant' go any further until I can take care of a few things."

"Dr. Hor…Mark, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam's patience was wearing very thin now as he watched them wheel something into Dean's room he really hadn't wanted to see. "What's so wrong with Dean that they need to put him on a ventilator? Why can't he breathe?"

"Calm down Sam, and I'll explain," Mark waited and watched as Sam forced himself to relax, or at least appear relaxed before he proceeded to tell him what he wanted to hear, knowing the kid was going to get very angry when he heard what he had to say, that knowledge making him choose his words very carefully. "The drop in blood pressure and poor respiration are indicative of an overdose. I think Dean may have accidentally been overmedicated Sam, that's why he's not breathing. If that's the case, all we can do is keep him breathing and ride it out until it's over."

It took a few seconds for what Mark had said to sink in, but when it did, Sam's face changed instantly. "Let me get this straight, my brother can't breathe on his own because the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing? How exactly does someone get 'accidentally' overmedicated anyway? Don't you people keep track of what you're doing?"

Mark had seen a lot of emotions in Sam over the last few weeks, but he'd never seen this one yet, and knew the man was angry, just as he'd suspected he would be. Hell, he was angry too, and Dean wasn't even his brother. "Sam, since your brother first woke up, he's had one setback after another, each and every one of them overseen by a different doctor, with the last one being the most serious one yet. They are all very good at what they do, but they do all tend to have a one track mind at times, and sometimes accidents do happen, even though they shouldn't. I don't want to blame anyone here, but I think Dr. Waterson may have miscommunicated his instructions to the nurses. He ordered a sedative for Dean, which I don't think he really needed in the first place, and the nurses gave it to him as ordered, then he must have either misread the chart or didn't read it at all and gave it to him himself mistakenly. I know he's had a lot on his mind lately and it must have been a shock for him to have to actually treat your brother as a patient. I can understand the mistake considering all the extenuating circumstances. I'm not trying to make excuses for what's happened, I just want to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Sam visibly slouched when the doctor finally went silent, somehow unable to sustain his anger when he'd heard what amounted to an apology from Mark, pretty much on behalf of the entire staff, even though it wasn't the fault of the entire staff. No, once again, the Winchester's problems were caused by a Waterson, and he was really starting to hate each and every one of them. Sam didn't chalk up his lack of attention to the poor man being torn up over his sister's death, he chalked it up to the fact that the man was an arrogant, self-centered prick, and now really wished he'd never been given a chance to lay a hand on his brother. He let a loud sigh that was filled with oppressive sadness, which was exactly how he felt. "I don't want it to happen again either. What do we do now?"

"The first thing we need to do is get all the damn drugs out of his system. I don't think they're helping as much as they are hurting him. I'm stopping the epidural first, and when he wakes up we'll see how much pain he's in. I'd be willing to bet it will be manageable with just oral analgesics. Once he's clean, we should really think about getting him out of here. I think he'll recuperate much better in a more comfortable environment."

"You make it sound like he's a junkie," Sam remarked, every word he heard making perfect sense.

"Sam, if we keep pumping him full of sedatives and pain killers like we have been, he will be. I should tell you too that once Dean is conscious and breathing on his own again, the real problems will probably begin."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There could be some side serious effects from an overdose like this. I'm still trying to figure out why the hell he was giving him that particular drug in the first place, but it really doesn't matter now. Just keep in mind that your brother may be extremely agitated, even suicidal for the next couple days, and in all honestly probably won't even remember it later. He'll probably feel sick to his stomach and won't have a lot of muscle control either. We just need to get him through the next few days, then I think everything will be fine. By then, we should be able to find someplace decent for you to stay other then here, and if I have my way, on Mr. Waterson's dime."

Sam's mind was reeling, not only from everything Mark was telling him, but from everything he was thinking as well. "Mark, what would have happened if I hadn't noticed Dean breathing like that?"

"It doesn't matter Sam, you did, and that probably saved his life. Try not to think about that, it'll only make you crazy." Mark could see that anger starting to return, but this time Sam kept it well in check, other then the occasional flare of his nostrils as he contemplated what he wanted to do.

"You just do whatever you need to do for Dean, and make sure Dr. Waterson doesn't set another foot through that door again. I don't want him anywhere near my brother as long as he's still a patient here."

"Ok, you got it Sam. I'll talk to him, don't worry. Why don't you go back now, I'm sure they're done, and it's probably going to be a very long night for you. Just remember what I said, he's going to be fine once we get him out of here, I promise."

"Thanks," Sam mumbled half-heartedly as he turned and walked back down the hall, the knots in his stomach now replaced with the anger he felt, which was only amplified when he walked back into the room and saw Dean laying there helplessly, relying on a machine to keep him alive yet again.

He turned off all the lights in the room, except the one directly over his brother's ashen face and just stared at him while he slept, never once seeing him move, twitch, or flinch. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear Dean was dead. He was sure, absolutely sure as tears started streaming down his face from either fear or rage or both, that this was no accident. He didn't know how long he'd been standing in the dark corner he'd sunk into, his increasing anger at what had happened starting to consume him when he heard Bobby come in, the shuffling of his feet in the dark unmistakable. He said nothing at first, he just wiped the little bit of moisture from his eyes that remained and waited.

"Sam…are you here?" He heard the older man call to him, his voice filled with nothing but confusion as he spoke.

"Right here Bobby," he answered as he pulled himself from the corner of the room he'd hidden himself in.

"What the hell happened after I left?" He asked in a desperate tone, shocked at the sudden turn of events in just under two hours.

"I'm gonna kill him Bobby, I swear to god I am," Sam hissed, anger just about taking control of him.

"Hold your horses boy, you're gonna kill who?"

"Dr. Waterson, that's who. He did this to Dean, and I'm gonna kill him."

"What do you mean 'he did this to Dean?' He did what to Dean?" Bobby was really confused now. He knew the doctor was an asshole, but what reason could he possibly have for killing Dean, unless…

"I think he tried to kill him Bobby. I don't know why, but I think he tried to kill Dean."

The older hunter shook his head at that, and knew it was time for a sit down, before Sam did something stupid he'd only regret later. If Bobby was right, they needed to handle this very carefully.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"**Sam, just hold your horses, sit your ass down, and tell me what the hell happened after I left," Bobby all but ordered as he watched Sam take up that infernal pacing that had driven him nearly insane earlier, it not fueled by worry this time, but by sheer anger instead. He'd known Sam nearly his entire life and couldn't remember ever seeing him this pissed. Sam made no attempt to sit, he just continued to march back and forth across the room, chewing on what nails he still had left as the wheels constantly turned in his head.**

"**I can't sit Bobby, I'm way too wired," he ranted as he quickened his step, no longer content on chewing his nails and opting to crack his knuckles instead.**

"**Suit yourself. You wanna case the room like a caged animal, go right ahead, but you'd better start telling me what the hell happened while I was gone while you do it," Bobby was starting to doubt anything was getting through to Sam at this point, he was so riled up. Much to the older man's surprise, he did eventually start talking, after a few, very long minutes. **

"**After you left, I woke Dean up. He was still pretty out of it, but at least he was awake. The nurse came in and gave him something for his headache, then left his liquid lunch with me, which I forced him to drink," Sam started relaying his recollection now that he had his thoughts in order.**

"**He had a headache again?" Bobby questioned, sounding as surprised as Sam had been when he'd heard the exact same thing from Dean.**

"**He's always got that fucking headache lately, Bobby," Sam continued as he angrily poked himself in the head with each word he said, pointing out another issue yet to be addressed that eventually would need to be. "Go over there and feel is head, he's got a fever too."**

"**Yeah, I kinda knew about that, and the blood pressure too. That's just what he needs on top of everything else. What did they say is causing it?"**

"**They don't know. Some bullshit about all the drugs they've given him in the last couple days, they think. That's just their way of saying they don't know what the hell's wrong and have no other answer yet." The anger in Sam's tone was gaining in intensity with each new thing he told Bobby, and the older man didn't like it.**

"**Ok Sam, what happened next?" Bobby tried moving Sam's thought process along, hoping it would stymie some of the pent up rage just waiting to burst out.**

"**We started talking, I asked him what he remembered. He told me he remembered Trish. I think he had remembered a lot, but then he started falling asleep again. I think he was about ready to tell me something important when Waterson came in. As soon as he interrupted us, that was it, Dean was out like a light again," Sam paused for just a second and took a deep breath before continuing, feeling he was about to lose what little control he **

**had over himself when he started telling him the rest because it was going to be the hardest part to spit out, and Bobby could see it in his eyes, and the way his nostrils were permanently flared now.**

"**Sam, you need to calm yourself down before you pop a vein and have a stroke, OK? I know you're upset, but making yourself sick isn't gonna help the situation any."**

**  
"I know Bobby, but it's the rest that makes my blood boil so much I just want to kill him," Sam was visibly shaking now, and Bobby was starting to worry more about Sam more then Dean. "He came in all arrogant, said not to worry about the fever and the blood pressure problems. Then he examined him, and I swear to god I saw him wince in pain when he touched him. Then he shot him full of some more drugs before we had a few choice words for each other, then he left. Then Julia came and went…"**

"**Julia?" The look of confusion on Bobby's face didn't register with Sam when he gave it, he just kept talking.**

"**You know, the physical therapist that's supposed to be helping Dean get himself back on his feet, if things weren't so screwed up all the time, that is…oh wait, you haven't met her yet, have you? Anyway, after she left, Dean started having trouble breathing, then couldn't breathe at all, and you can see the rest." Sam's constant nervous fidgeting was becoming almost uncontrollable now.**

"**I can see the rest, but I still don't know the what's got all fired up enough to want to commit homicide."**

"**Waterson doubled whatever the nurse had already given him and it pretty much OD'd him. They said it was an accident, but I don't buy it." Sam informed him, then waited for it to sink into Bobby's head.**

**Bobby couldn't hide the look of total surprise on his face, wondering himself how something like that could be an accident. "Sam, what makes you think it wasn't?"**

"**The nurse. She had no idea Dean had a headache until I told her, but she had that injection all ready to go before she even walked in the door. Mark told me Waterson ordered those drugs to be given, then went ahead and gave them to Dean himself again. What I don't get is why. Why would he want to kill Dean? Do you think, in some sick way, he blames Dean for what's happened?"**

**Bobby thought for a minute about Sam's question, and somehow pieces of the puzzle started coming together in his head at the speed of light. " I think there's a lot more to it then that Sam, and now I really think you better sit down."**

**Sam glared at Bobby for a minute and could clearly see the man wasn't going to say a word until he did as he was asked and grudgingly dragged up a chair to drop himself into, not **

**really sure he was ready to hear what he had to say, but preparing himself to listen anyway. He honestly didn't think he had room in his head for anything else at the moment, but he was definitely going to try. "Ok, I'm sitting. Now what?" He sharply asked, arms crossed over his chest and his face contorted like he had a mouthful of Lemonheads.**

"**There's a lot more going on here then the police are letting on, and the locals have called in the Feds now. Both victims were found dressed in white and posed with their hands crossed over their chests and wrapped in a rosary, just like our girl Trish when we dug her up. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and get this…the tongues were missing from both victims. I got to thinking about that, and asked if Trish's had been missing . Guess what?"**

"**Yeah, I'm betting her's was missing too…so what? We know he had to take something from her or the salt and burn would have sent her on her way. We already know it's the same guy, Dean said so. How does any of this help?" Sam was either too angry to get it, or just not comprehending what Bobby was telling him.**

"**Think about it Sam, the two known victims were picked because they looked like Trish, were dressed and posed in death just like Trish, but Trish had just been left for dead. I think whoever killed her must have known her." There it was, Bobby's thought process in a nice, neat package for Sam to examine.**

**Sam immediately followed Bobby's train of thought, taking the ride and getting off at the exact same station. "Jesus Bobby, he killed her, he killed his own sister. It all makes sense now. Waterson must think Dean knows something, or maybe saw him in the car before it hit him. The night he finally came out of it, he asked me about the guy in the car with her. I told him there hadn't been a guy, just her, and he argued with me about it. Dean must have seen him, or Trish told him, or both, and Waterson knows it. He doesn't want Dean dead because he blames him, he wants Dean dead because he thinks he can identify him. That's why he was so damn interested to know if Dean had remembered anything when he came in and gave him that shot. Oh god Bobby, Dean even tried to tell me after Waterson left, but he just couldn't get it out before he passed out, then he stopped breathing. We have to stop him Bobby!"**

**Sam jumped from the chair he'd been planted in and grabbed his coat, ready to hunt the twisted son-of-a-bitch down when Bobby wrapped a firm hand around his wrist and forced him back into the seat the hot-headed kid had just vacated. He knew Sam was even more enraged, and had every right to be, but he had to stop him from doing anything stupid yet.**

"**Sit back down Sam. The last thing you need to be doing right now is running out of here half-cocked to hunt the man down when we have no real proof he did anything yet. All we've got is a bunch of suspicions, but nothing else."**

"**It's him Bobby, I know it is, and if Dean was awake, he'd probably tell you that too. He's already killed three people, and he wants to kill Dean. Look at him, for god's sake. He's almost killed him twice already, how many more chances do you want to give him? We **

**need to take him out before he kills again." Sam may still be angry, but now it was anger with a purpose, and that made him somewhat dangerous.**

"**You're forgetting one very important thing Sam. He may be a monster, but he's still human, and we don't kill humans."**

"**He tried killing by brother Bobby, I might just make an exception this time," Sam stated in a rather icy cold tone that the older man had never heard come from normally level-headed kid before.**

"**Damn it Sam, listen to yourself. I'd expect that kind of attitude from Dean, not you. Get your head out of your ass and use it. We can not, I repeat NOT, kill him, and that's final!"**

"**Then what do we do, sit around here with our fingers up our asses and wait for him to get bored? I can't do that Bobby, I just can't."**

"**Right now, we're going down to the cafeteria and getting something to eat, because I got a funny feeling you haven't bothered to yet today, and I'm starving. Then, I'm going to get some sleep since I didn't have the luxury of snoozing until five this afternoon. Then, in the morning, **I**; not we but **I**; will go check out Waterson's house while **you **stay here and keep an eye on your brother. That's what we do, and if you want to do it with your finger up your ass, be my guest."**

"**I can't, my heads already taking up all the space, remember?"**

"**Your choice what's up your ass, but whichever one it is, it will be right here with Dean, because the way I see it, he sure as hell can't protect himself right now."**

**The anger in Sam's voice was finally dissipating, his face slowly starting to return to a normal color from the near blood red it seemed to be. "You're right, I know that, but what if he tries something before tomorrow? It'll be our faults for not stopping him."**

"**He's too smart to do something that stupid Sam, not when the spotlight is on him with what went down here today. I got a feeling he's gonna be laying low for a while until this all blows over, which buys us at least a little time. Besides, I don't want to be the one that has to tell Dean you took the bastard out and got caught 'cause you were too pissed off the think straight. He'd kill me, sure as shit."**

"**At least we'd be in prison together," Sam finally managed a small smile and realized he actually felt a little better. Bobby made sense, he always made sense.**

"**Good thing too, you'd need someone to protect your pretty ass," Bobby light-heartedly gave Sam a slap in the back of the head and started for the door, giving Sam a look indicating he'd better be right behind him.**

**Sam reluctantly followed Bobby out of the room, not really wanting to leave, but knowing the older hinter wasn't taking no for an answer. He'd also all but promised his brother that if Dean ate, he would too, and since Dean had forced down whatever the hell that crap was the nurse had left for him at Sam's insistence, he figured he should at least live up to his end of the bargain. His brother would never know, but he would, and Sam already felt enough guilt without wanting anymore.**

**Closing the door tightly behind him like it was some sort of shield that would protect Dean in his absence, Sam followed Bobby down the hall, obviously dragging his feet as each glance he stole back towards the door with every other step he took made him lag farther and farther behind. Bobby impatiently stormed through half the hallway back to the distracted young man and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him silently to the elevator right behind him. Sam didn't like leaving his brother alone and unprotected in the helpless state he was in, the thought that every time he did, something bad happened. The more he thought about it though, the more he realized that even with him in the room, bad things happened. He hoped it was that very same thought that sent the cold chill up his spine as he watched Bobby press the down button, suddenly wanting nothing more to head right back where he'd just come from.**

"**Forger it Sam, you're coming with me," Bobby told him without even looking in his direction as the elevator doors opened and he stepped in, roughly pulling Sam in right with him. "Nothing's gonna happen before we get back, so quit obsessing."**

**Sam said nothing as the doors closed and the car started on it's way down, the figure that had been lurking in the hallway and completely out of sight making his way to the door the two men had just come from once they were gone. Confident he'd been totally unseen, he slipped inside, the room, it lit up just enough for him to see where he was going. It didn't really matter, he wouldn't need much light, not for what he was going to do. He stood there and stared at Dean until he'd decided what to say, knowing there was no way he could hear him, but wanting to say his piece anyway.**

"**Well Dean, I wish I could say I'm happy to see your still breathing, but then I'd be a liar, now wouldn't I? I do try keeping my faults to a minimum, so I guess I'll keep this honest. I don't really know how you know what you think you know, but it really doesn't matter now. Those drugs may not have killed you, but at least they'll prevent you from remembering me, that much I'm sure of," he began his monologue, occasionally rubbing his dimpled chin or scratching his blonde head as he spoke, pausing every now and again to work through his thoughts to make them come out just right. It didn't matter that they were falling on deaf ears. **

"**I have been racking my brain since this morning trying to figure out what to do about you, but I can't seem to come up with any good solutions. What I'd really like to do is just rip that tube out of your throat right now and watch you slowly suffocate, but that wouldn't be very subtle now, would it. I tried making it as painless as possible for you with the drugs, thought that would be the most humane way for you to go. You were just supposed to stop breathing in your sleep, and nobody would have known any better. Sure, **

**they would have figured out what killed you eventually, but considering who I am, they would have just put the blame on that ditzy nurse and fired her. Too bad for you it didn't quite work out that way." He took a longer moment to ponder this time before he continued, wanting to fully express how he really felt before he left.**

"**Thanks to your damn brother saving you and that vindictive bastard Mark Horton childless informing my father of my actions, it seems I'm going to be going away for a little while at my father's request, just until things blow over. Don't worry though, I'll be back real soon, and we can pick this up right where we left off," he tapped Dean's shoulder at the ominous reassurance as he frowned, relatively disappointed with his handiwork thus far and his inability to finish the job. He was almost done with the defenseless young man, but not quite.**

**He pulled back the blanket that had been so kindly pulled up to Dean's chin, hands aiming directly for the incision he'd so haphazardly closed up during the surgery earlier. It hadn't been his most professional job, but he hadn't cared at the time. He thought the kid wouldn't be around long enough for it to become an issue. He felt around the entire area, pressing here, and poking there, until he found the spot he thought he was looking for, giving it one sharp jab with most of the fingers on his right hand, the action actually making Dean's lower body jerk in what Waterson assumed, or hoped, was pain, the reaction giving him a small shiver of excitement. Re-covering everything exactly the way he'd found it, blanket included, he grabbed hold of the tube attached to Dean's face and gave it a little wiggle, but left it in place to do it's job.**

"**That's going to be a lot slower and more painful then the OD would have been, and it probably won't kill you before Mark notices it, but one can hope. Anyway, you take good care of yourself Dean, and if you're still around when I get back, well…we'll see. I may just decide to take care of that annoying brother of yours first." He slipped out of the room as quietly as he'd entered it, leaving the door slightly ajar as he tried to slink out into the hall unnoticed. He caught the set of eyes on him instantly, and held them with a menacing gaze as he approached the young woman behind the desk, her own stare wide and shocked.**

"**You know who I am?" He asked her, his tone forceful and arrogant as he laid a warm hand across hers and nearly crushed it in his grip. She answered with only the shake of her head, not finding the ability to verbalize anything at the moment. "If you want to continue working in any medical field other then wiping shit from senior citizen's asses, you never saw me here tonight, understand."**

**Another silent shake of her head produced a smile on his face from ear to ear, and he gave her hand one more squeeze, much more gently this time, before he turned and walked away, heading straight for the stairwell. His father was an impatient man, the call coming in from him barely an hour ago, his displeasure at the current situation clearly audible. Mark Horton had called him and told him everything, and he immediately called to inform his son he was to take a short leave of absence to get his head together. That had angered Trent to no ends, but when his father said jump, he asked how high, then tried that plus a few extra inches for good measure, even though he knew it would never be good enough. **

**The leave was only temporary also, he'd be back within a week if he had his way, and then Mark would get his, Mark and Sam both. He whistled as he trotted down the stairs, already planning his sweet revenge.**

**The elevator doors opened as the stairwell door closed, Sam and Bobby stepping off with Sam's hands loaded with food. The younger Winchester had been whining and complaining since the two of them stepped onto the floor the cafeteria was located on, and the only thing Bobby could do to shut him up was agree to take their food back up and eat it in the room where he could sit guard next to his brother. Considering the fact that it was probably the only way he was going to get the damn kid to eat, he found himself readily agreeing. Between the pacing, the anger, then the whining, Bobby would do anything to keep Sam happy at the moment. He'd finally gone quiet when Bobby acquiesced, and they picked their poison, paid, and silently headed back up.**

**Sam's pace was quick as he walked down the hall, stopping at the door and impatiently tapping his foot when he realized he had no free hand to open the door with, and waited for Bobby to catch up. When he finally did, the older man grasped the door handle and pulled, Sam's head too lost in the clouds to even notice it was no longer shut tight the way he'd left it. Sam pushed past Bobby rather rudely, but Bobby just let it go knowing he wasn't going to relax one bit until he saw nothing earth shattering had happened to Dean while he'd been gone. The look of relief accompanied by the soft sigh was blatant when he saw his brother in exactly the same condition he'd left him in, and now he was ready to settle in for what promised to be a very long night.**

"**See, I told you the world wasn't gonna come to an end before we got back," Bobby chided, unable to resist a good 'I told you so'. If he only knew…**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Sam wasn't exactly sure what it was that was keeping him awake as he sat stewing next to his brother's broken and abused body, having one hell of a time clearing his head of the murderous thoughts that still lay in wait behind his weary eyes, thoughts that were temporarily dormant but still lurking deep inside. Whether it was the throaty snore coming from across the room as Bobby slept in Sam's bed, knowing he had absolutely no use for it at the moment himself and offering it to the exhausted man, or the repetitive whooshing sound of the dreaded machine next to Dean's side that pushed oxygen into his lungs when he couldn't pull it in on his own, it really didn't matter. Even if he did figure it out, he still wasn't sleeping anytime soon anyway. Nurses paraded in and out every hour like clockwork, and Sam would stand his ground when they'd ask him to move out of the way and watch each and every one of them like a hawk, making damn sure not one of them did a damn thing to his brother other then check on his condition. He'd trusted them before, but not anymore, and nothing was getting by him again.

Bobby had been up since well before sunrise the day before, taking his own turn at guard duty of sorts while Sam had slept until well into the afternoon before heading out and conducting his investigation of what now was most definitely victim number three, which was why he'd crashed out by nine o'clock, not long after he'd finally got Sam somewhat calmed down enough to be sure he wasn't going to sneak out in the middle of the night and slit Trent Waterson's throat. Sam had offered his bed to the older hunter, knowing his still festering anger would keep him conscious for quite some time to come tonight. He'd pulled up a chair not two feet from his brother's side and listened to him breathe, or at least try to breathe, the machine seemingly doing most of the work for him. He was so sick and tired of that sound, sick and tired of that room, and sick and tired of doctors and nurses telling him not to worry that he just wanted it all to be over so they could get the hell out of dodge.

It had been nearly six hours since shit had hit the fan, but he knew they weren't even halfway through what Mark had already told him would be a very long ordeal. It didn't matter though, as long as Dean started breathing on his own again, Sam would make sure nothing else happened to him, and if Bobby could find some kind of evidence against Waterson, like maybe those god damn tongues so he could salt and burn them to get rid of Trish once and for all, life would get even better, maybe even back to normal. Sam hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd make an exception to their 'no killing humans' rule, but Bobby had been right about one thing, they did need concrete proof. As soon as he got that though, all bets were off. Sam played with ideas in his mind as he slid over closer the bed and rested his head against the mattress, feeling the warmth of his brother's limp arm against his forehead as the adrenaline rush he'd been flying high on earlier finally starting to wind down to a normal level since he'd forced himself to relax and wait, just as Bobby had suggested they do. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his heart hurt, and as he listened to the monotonous sounds in the room, he'd let his eyelids drift closed, having no intentions of sleeping but just wanting to make the pain behind them go away.

"Hey Sam, wake up kid," the voice echoing in his head was husky as he felt his body being shaken to and fro by the strong arm on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and stared at Bobby's face, which stood mere inches from his own and tried to comprehend why he was bothering him.

"What…what'd I miss?" Sam asked, somewhat confused as to what was going on. Hadn't he just been thinking of ways to kill Waterson without getting caught, and coming up with quite a few good ones at that?

"You're drooling all over your brother's bed boy, go get some sleep in your own. I'll sit here for a while and keep watch over him," he told Sam, not really making it sound like Sam had much choice as Bobby grabbed him under the arm and lifted him from the chair, walking him across the room and depositing him in the bed without any words of protest.

"Bobby, you'll wake me up if anything happens, right?" He asked with sleep riddled words, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Ain't nothin' gonna happen, but yes Sam, I'll wake you if it does, now go to sleep."

His sleep had been dreamless, which for Sam was a rarity, especially considering how much he'd had on his mind over the last few hours, and it was definitely the kind of material nightmares were made of. He didn't really know how long he'd been sleeping, but when he'd been pulled from it by Bobby yet again, he knew it was over and this time another day of fun and surprises was about to begin, whether he liked it or not.

"Sam, wake up. Dr, Horton's here," Bobby told him, the words waking him almost instantly as he practically leapt from the bed and crossed the room in just a few steps, anxious to hear what the doctor had to say.

"Morning Sam," Mark stated the obvious, noting that it was indeed morning, but not necessarily observing it to be a good one even as bright sunlight filtered in through the half open shades covering the windows, lighting up the room to an almost cheery feel, if it weren't for what was going on inside. No one in the room felt the least bit cheery this morning.

"What time is it?" Sam asked as he yawned and stretched, his eyes falling on his brother, whose condition hadn't appeared to change all night, either for the better or worse as he tried to calculate how long it had been since he'd been drugged up to the point of near death. His skin was still too pale, the sunlight burning bright in the room adding to the sickly pallor his flesh gave off. His face, which had been for the most part peaceful appearing in sleep the night before, now had somewhat of a grimace spread across it, which Sam attributed to the lack of any type of pain medication being administered at the moment. Even in his near comatose sleep, Dean was in some kind of pain, and Sam could clearly see it.

"It's a little after eight o'clock in the morning," Mark answered rather curtly, and Sam could tell something was bothering him, but he wasn't really sure he wanted to ask what.

Sam did the math fast in his head, then went ahead and started asking his questions, knowing they needed answers, whether he wanted to hear them or not. The ever present droning of the ventilator still echoing in the room answered the obvious first question, so Sam didn't even bother to ask it. "It's been thirteen hours, is he getting any better yet?"

Mark shook his head as he answered Sam's question, "His temperature is down and his blood pressure is back up, so I'd have to say yes, he's getting better."

"Then why isn't he breathing yet?" Sam shot the ping pong ball back into Mark's side of the table.

"I don't know Sam, but I'm really not surprised. It could be hours before he's breathing normally again, or it could be days, I just can't answer that. We only know the dosage the nurses gave him, not what Trent gave him after that, and unfortunately for us, we don't have the luxury of asking him," he'd answered, his irritation coming fully to the surface and peaking Bobby's curiosity.

"What do you mean, we can't ask him?" Bobby asked, and he definitely didn't like the way that sounded.

"We can't ask him because he's gone. Apparently, someone tipped off his father as to what happened here yesterday, long before I had a chance to, and it was decided that Trent should take a short leave of absence to get his head back on straight. He damn near kills a patient, and his punishment is two weeks on a Club Med vacation. I guess, in a way, that solves the majority of the problems here. I don't need to find a way to remove him from the case; he's done that all by himself. It really pisses me off that he won't have to account for his actions though, but then again, what did I really expect." He couldn't believe he was spilling his guts to either man about a fellow doctor, but he really didn't want to hold in how he felt anymore since he'd found out about Trent. He knew that if it had been him that had accidentally OD'd a patient, he'd be in the unemployment line right now, but then again, he wasn't a Waterson.

Sam and Bobby shot each other a look as Mark spoke that relayed completely different feelings from the ones the doctor was expressing, and Bobby could almost read Sam's mind as he looked at the young man, noting his eyes were saying it all. It was damn near the same look Sam had the night before, when he was ready to hunt the evil, murderous bastard down and kill him on sight for what he'd done to Dean. The way his eyebrows were tightly drawn together until they nearly met as the scowl formed across his face told Bobby everything.

"Do you know where he went?" Bobby asked, hoping against hope he did, and that somehow he could follow.

"Nope, nobody apparently does, and if they do, they're not telling. I'm sure he won't be gone long, but let's just hope it's long enough to get Dean up and out of here," Mark answered Bobby, satisfied he'd said his piece. "I'll be around all day and I've informed the nurses to page me if there's any change. Unless you guys need something, I'll check back in later."

"I know you said no more drugs, but he's in pain. There's gotta be something you can give him, isn't there?"

"How do you know that, Sam?"

"I just do," he told him. Sam did know, he could tell by the way Dean's eyes wrinkled up at the corners, and had he not had a tube down his throat, he was pretty sure his lips would be pursed together like usually did when he was in pain. He always looked that way when he was hurting, and if anyone would know, it would be Sam. He'd seen that look way too many times in his life to mistake it for anything else.

"I'll see what I can do." 

Sam watched as Mark walked out of the room, immediately following him and closing the door once he was out of sight before directing that angry glare in Bobby's direction again, but Bobby was prepared for what was going to come.

"I already know what you're gonna say Sam, so don't say it," he warned him, knowing it would go totally unheeded.

"I knew it Bobby; we should have gone after him last night. What the hell are we going to do now? We can't stop him if we don't even know where he is," Sam fumed, feeling that anger start to rise again.

"Sam, if we'd gone after him last night, you would have killed him sure as shit. You know as well as I do he'll be back, sooner rather than later. This may actually be a good thing. This is his comfort zone, and it's pretty unlikely he'll stray too far from it or kill outside of it. The longer he's gone, the better it is for Dean. I'm gonna head to his house to see if I can dig anything up, you stay here and babysit. Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky. Boot up that 'bot of yours and find me an address, will ya?"

Sam did just that, easily finding Dr. Waterson's place of residence and jotting it down on a piece of old newspaper for the older hunter, who wasted no time leaving the room once he had the information he needed, wanting more than anything to be free of the glaring stare Sam was drilling into him, not necessarily from anger but from frustration as well. Yes, Waterson was gone, but he would most definitely be back, because for some crazy reason he wanted Dean dead, and people like that don't normally give up that easily. Oh no, he'd be back soon enough to try and finish Dean off, of that he was sure, but when he did come back, both he and Sam would be ready for him.

The house had been easy to find, easy to enter, and easy to search, considering it had nothing incriminating whatsoever inside to find. In fact, it was pretty much exactly what he'd expected the house of a sociopath to be. Plain white walls, typical, boxy beige furniture, and very little of anything else. Much like the man that owned it, the house had no warmth or personality. He'd left everything exactly the way he'd found it, and returned to Sam, somewhat disappointed he'd struck out. He walked slowly back up to the room with his head hung low, not looking forward to telling Sam he'd come up empty handed, especially when Sam shot him that look again as he entered the room.

"Did you find anything?" Sam queried, the look on Bobby's face telling Sam the answer was a big fat no before he'd even heard it.

"What do you think? You didn't think he'd leave a sign saying 'Hey, I'm a Serial Killer' laying around did you?" Was his aggravated response as he dropped himself into an open chair across the room, it not even being noon yet, but finding he was already exhausted.

"Great, just great. Now what?"

"Now we wait, and hope Dean can give us something to go on. It's our only option at the moment. Maybe he can tell us where to look, 'cause frankly, I got no clue."

Bobby said wait, and wait they did. Hours went by as Sam sat staring silently at his brother, his eyes barely straying from him as he watched Dean occasionally twitch or jerk, or hear him actually try to take what sounded to Sam like a breath through the plastic shoved down his throat. He'd been tempted a few times to have Mark paged when he'd heard the efforts of breathing coming more and more often over the last few hours, but when he laid his hand on his brother's arm to calm yet another bout of uncontrollable muscle spasms, he knew something had to be done when he felt the throbbing pulse in his veins. He rested his hand on his brother's chest and found himself even more terrified then he had already been.

"Bobby, get Dr. Horton in here now, something's wrong," he half ordered, half begged, and Bobby didn't wait around for an explanation, he just took off from the room in a near sprint, not surprised more bad shit was happening.

Mark had already been in the hallway and was making his way towards the room when he saw Bobby bolt out into the hall, causing him to quicken his pace to cut the man off before he reached the nurse's station. "What's wrong?"

"Don't know, Sam said to get you ASAP, I didn't wait around to find out why," he relayed as they both headed for the door, practically knocking each other over as they tried getting inside at the same time.

"Sam, what is it?" He repeated the same basic question and waited patiently for an answer, not seeing anything visibly wrong in front of him.

"His heart's racing. I swear, it feels like it's about to explode in his chest," Sam urgently tried to tell him, his panic making him sound almost like a madman. 

"I think he's starting to fight the machine, and it may be stressing him out just a little. Might be time to finally shut it off and see if he can do the work for himself now," he told Sam, hoping it was the only reason for the sudden boost in heart rate. "Sam, can you go get one of the nurses please?"

By the time Sam made it to the desk and dragged one of the women back inside the room with him, the machine had been silenced and pushed into the corner along with the accompanying tubing that came with it. It was still inside, and Sam could see Dean's chest clearly rising and falling at a normal pace as he continued to sleep and he breathed a sigh of relief that was audible to everyone in the room. Sam was next to him before anyone could blink, not caring what his brother would say when he realized he was holding his hand brother's hand as he spoke to him.

"Dean…can you hear me? Wake up and talk to me, please," he was nearly begging, something he'd done a lot of over the last few weeks, so much so that it was almost becoming second nature.

"Sorry Sam, he's not awake yet, but this is definitely a step in the right direction. Just give it some time; he'll wake up when he's ready. I know you're tired of hearing it, but relax, it will happen," Mark did know Sam was sick of hearing those words, but he had to say them, knowing full well what they could very well be in for over the next few days, but hoped he'd be wrong. "Listen Sam, you need to be prepared for when he does finally wake up. He may be irritable…really irritable. Try to keep him calm but don't challenge him, and don't leave him alone. Have me paged too, no matter what time of day it is. I want to talk to him once he's coherent."

"Great, he'll be more irritable then his usual self. This is gonna be fun," Sam almost joked, but Mark didn't find it amusing, and neither did Bobby.

"I'm serious Sam. Just let him have his mood swings and stay out of his way. Hopefully, they won't last long, and we'll be able to see about getting him out of here and somewhere a little more comfortable. If I don't get a page, I'll come back in the morning. Until then, just talk to him, maybe it'll help."

Both Sam and Bobby fell back into that uncomfortable silence once they were alone again, neither one of them wanting to broach the subject of Trent Waterson at the moment, and it didn't take long for Bobby to not be able to stand it anymore. He made some excuse about being hungry, which really wasn't an excuse considering neither one of them had eaten all day, and made his escape, telling Sam he'd be back with dinner, eventually. He'd taken his sweet time at returning, the Chinese he'd decided on merely being picked at by Sam before he just gave up and pushed it to the side, having no appetite at the moment. Sam had made the mistake of coercing a nurse into telling him what it was that Dean had been given such a generous dose of, then looking it up on the internet to see what exactly it was that Mark wasn't telling him. After reading just about all the information he could find, he almost wished he hadn't. By midnight, his eyes were so dry and tired, he decided to just curl up and go to sleep, just like Bobby had hours before, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Morning and afternoon had come and gone along with Mark, who hadn't stayed very long when he realized Sam had somehow found out Trent's drug of choice and had been doing his homework, and was, for lack of a better word, totally pissed off when he realized that Dean would probably live through each and every one of the side effects he'd read could happen, because that's just how things worked in their world. He wasn't pissed at Mark, but at the person that rightfully deserved it, and once again, there was nothing Sam could do about it but wait for the bastard to return to face the Winchester music, and if he had his way, he'd most definitely be leading the orchestra.

By sunset, Sam thought he was going to go out of his mind. It had been nearly two days since he'd last spoke to Dean, and like he was some kind of drug himself, Sam was desperate for a fix. He felt useless and helpless as he watched his brother's body become weak and frail over the last six weeks, and began to wonder if he'd ever be the Dean he used to be. Of course, it didn't help that he had a dead woman living inside with him, physically torturing him at just about every chance she got. He'd been grateful for at least the fact that he'd been spared her attempts at communications over the last couple days, the results of the previous encounters leaving him pretty much in the mess he was in right now. He'd tried numerous times already to wake his brother unsuccessfully, but decided _'What the hell', _and tried it again.

Towering over Dean, he rested a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him as he spoke, "Dean…you in there? I really need to talk to you, do you think you can try to wake up now, please…"

"Sam…what's wrong…" he started asking in a mumble, the desperation in Sam's voice finally helping force him somewhat awake, "You ok?"

Sam had a hard time hiding the surprise that was in his voice when his brother finally answered him after two days of silence. "Am I ok? Yeah, I'm fine. What about you? How do you feel?" He watched as Dean's eyes rolled around under their still closed lids, trying to find some source of strength to open.

"Why am I so tired? I could hear you talking, but I just couldn't wake up. What the fuck is going on Sam? Shit…Oh god…I think I'm gonna be sick…" he groaned the last part out as his breathing became rapid while he reached for Sam and tried rolling himself over when his stomach muscles started contracting, the lack of muscle control he had making movement nearly impossible. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to throw up, even if his body wanted to; there was nothing inside it to throw up. Bobby, who had been sitting in a corner quietly listening had already made it to the bed and began raising the back up when he saw Dean struggling and Sam had apparently gone momentarily brain dead. Somehow up righting him had alleviated the overwhelming nausea that had struck, and after a few deep breaths, his air intake evened out to normal and his body relaxed a little, but Bobby could see something was still wrong.

"That better?" He asked, his words finally drawing Sam out of his near trance, that and the slap on the back Bobby gave him.

"Yeah, thanks. This sucks, can I just go back to sleep now?"

"No, not yet. You need to stay with us just a little while longer, can you do that?" Sam eyed Bobby, who took the cue and headed for the door. 

"I'll try. Where's he going like his hair's on fire?"

"To get your doctor, because as much as you want to bullshit me, I know you're still in pain, aren't you?"

"What makes you say that Sam?"

"Because you're stiff as a board, and as much as you're trying to hide it, you're breathing heavier then you should be, so, nice try, but no fly."

"Whatever, Mr. Know It All. What the hell happened, anyway? The last thing I remember was…uhh…shit, what is the last thing I remember?"

"Don't know man, but give it time, it may come back to you." _Shit Dean, it needs to come back to you, and sooner rather than later._

"Uh Sam, I'm not really sure I want it to come back to me," he told his brother, fully aware of where each and every pain he felt was coming from and deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to relive how he'd gotten them.

"Ok, spill it, what hurts?"

"Everything. My head, my stomach, my…umm…never mind; and it fuckin' itches like a bitch too," Dean was being vague, but Sam knew exactly what he meant.

"Don't try to scratch, you've got stitches there."

"What! Why!"

"I thought you didn't want to know," Sam chided, smiling at Dean who had finally found a way to open his eyes wide.

"Sam…" Anger was starting to flare in Dean's eyes, and Sam knew he was getting annoyed, very annoyed. That was a new record for Dean, zero to pissed in about five seconds, and pissed at him no less. Yeah, well, he couldn't say he hadn't been warned this would happen.

"Ok, I'll tell you if you really want to know, but you aren't going to like it. You sort of fell out of bed and the catheter …well…it…"

"Forget it, I don't want to hear it," Dean grumbled, seeing the look on Sam's face that told him he really didn't want to tell him, and confirming that he'd really be better off not knowing. He just closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto the pillow, fully intent on going back to sleep.

"Hey, don't do that, the doctor wants to see you once you're awake. Come on, you can keep your eyes open for a few more minutes, can't you?"

"Fuck the doctor and fuck you too Sam. Would you just leave me alone, please?"

That was it, and Sam knew the battle had begun.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Dean laid perfectly still in his bed with his head pressed hard against his pillow in total silence and pretended to be asleep, carefully listening to every sound Sam didn't make. Silence said it all, and he knew he'd either angered or upset his little brother with the crude comment he'd made, but as Sam stood there without making a sound, he really couldn't determine which emotion it had been. He didn't know where those words had come from either, and had really only meant half of what he'd said, but they had come out of his own mouth so fast he had no chance of stopping them, and once they were in the open, he couldn't take them back, so in silence he sat, feigning sleep and hoping Sam would just let it go for now. He got an inkling that wasn't happening when he heard the footsteps echoing against the hard floor and pounding heavily into the room, the first set he instantly recognized, the other he wasn't too sure about.

"I know you're not sleeping Dean, open your eyes and look at us," Sam had damn near ordered with an extreme lack of patience, and by the tone, Dean finally settled on Sam's demeanor being of the angered variety instead of merely upset. "The doctor's here and wants to talk to you."

'_Ok, maybe I did mean all of what I just said,' _he thought to himself before speaking. Well, maybe I don't want to talk to him," he grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, sounding more like a spoiled rotten, little brat then the tough as nails hunter he was.

"Dean, stop being such an a…" Sam's tone was becoming even more irritated now, and had Dean's eyes been open he would have seen Mark shaking his head at him with his open hand raised and shooting him a look that said getting annoyed wouldn't help, it would only make things worse. Sam took a calming breath and tried again, in a much more soothing voice this time, keeping it short. "Dean, please, just for a minute."

Whether it was guilt or sheer irritability, Dean decided he'd fulfill Sam's request and jerked is lids open, glaring first at his brother, then at the man in the white coat standing directly in front of him with a stupid, fake grin plastered across his face. He bit his tongue almost all the way through to stop the new string of thoughts that were threatening to come rolling out of his mouth, and for a second he thought he actually tasted blood.

"Dean, do you remember me?" Mark asked him in a slow, quiet voice. He'd only had the pleasure of speaking to Dean once before, and that first experience hadn't been very pleasant. It had also been conducted prior to his body being overloaded with drugs that were obviously emphasizing that particularly negative personality trait in the man.

Dean stared at him long and hard for a minute, somehow knowing he should recognize him but not being able to pull any memories out of the fog in his head yet. That lack of memory only seemed to agitate him more as he answered, "Sorry to burst your bubble doc, but I got no clue who you are, other than the nice white coat you're sporting there."

"Well, I'm not surprised. How are we feeling this evening?"

"Well, "he mocked Mark, "I can't really speak for you, but as for me, I'm feeling just fine."

"That's funny Dean, that's not what you said to me a minute ago," Sam interjected, knowing full well Dean was not 'fine'.

"I didn't hear the doctor asking you Sam, so why don't you just shut your fucking mouth and mind your own business?" Dean growled at his brother as he shot him a deathly glare that said _'If looks could kill, you'd be dead, little brother.' _

Mark ignored the slightly heated exchange of looks the brothers shot at one another when Sam angrily stared right back at Dean and continued undaunted, "Good, I'm glad to hear you're feeling fine tonight. Are you in any discomfort or having any trouble breathing?"

"I said I was fine. Was there a part of that you didn't understand, or are you just a fucking moron?"

"DEAN!" Sam yelled at him, but Mark cut him off.

"It's ok Sam. Now that we know you're 'fine', I guess we'll let you go back to sleep. Maybe in the morning you'll be in a little better mood."

"Yeah, don't count on it," he grumbled and shut his eyes again, wanting more than anything to keep his own mouth shut. He could hear himself, and he didn't like the way he sounded, but he just couldn't help it. His mouth seemed to have a life of it's own.

"Good night Dean, I'll see you some time tomorrow," Mark said, motioning for Sam to follow him into the hall, closing the door behind them. "What did he say to you before we came back in?"

Sam shrugged first, then answered. "He said his head hurt, his stomach hurt, and he thought he was going to throw up. You know, he can be a real prick when he's sick, but this is a little extreme. How long is this going to last?"

"Hopefully just a couple days, but I can't say for sure. You just need to be patient and understanding. Remember, he can't help it, that's just it. I'll get him something for the pain he's not in and we'll let him sleep, but in the morning I'm sending Julia in there with him, attitude or not. The sooner we get him mobile, the sooner he'll get out of here, and I'm sure that will make both of you a whole lot happier."

"That sounds like it'll be fun. You are going to warn her what she's in store for, aren't you?"

"Don't worry, she can handle him. I'll be back in a few minutes and we'll see if we can at least make him comfortable." Mark turned around and marched down the hall as Sam went back inside, feeling the silent tension in the air.

"I'm sorry Sam," the apology came from nowhere, and Sam had to shake his head to make sure he'd actually heard it as he looked in Bobby's direction, knowing he'd said something to Dean that was probably going to stay between him and Dean. "I…umm…I didn't mean…I wasn't…I'm just sorry, ok."

As much as Sam wanted to be furious with his brother for the way he'd treated Mark, he knew it had taken a lot to spit that apology out, and the tone was so sincere he just couldn't hold onto his irritation anymore. "It's ok Dean, just get some rest. Tomorrow will be better." _'Yeah, sure it will.'_

"I sure hope so, because today totally sucks so far."

Mark came and went, and whatever he'd given Dean obviously worked fast when he watched him start to relax. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe Mark had ignored the IV route and given it to Dean directly in his ass as some sort of revenge, the question Dean shot out of "Did you really have to do that," being quickly responded to by Mark with, "I could have given it to you rectally," and amazingly that shut Dean up instantly. He'd left something for Sam to give him later, if necessary, and instructed him that it had to no less than eight hours from now. The rest of the night was spent quietly watching TV while Dean slept, again, until Sam finally dozed off sometime around midnight.

"Sam…you awake?"

'_No, I'm not'… "Yeah Dean, what's wrong?"_

"I can't sleep," he told his brother in a near whimper.

"You need something?"

"Water, please."

Sam dragged himself from his bed and shuffled across the room in the dark to the bathroom, the light momentarily blinding him when he turned it on without shielding his face first. He ran the cold water into a glass, then shuffled back out, trying to navigate the room through the spots before his eyes. He couldn't help but notice how miserable his brother looked as he lay there flat on his back in the bed, but he had a hard time reading why. The usually open book seemed to have closed itself for the time being.

"You wanna sit up?"

"No, I want to roll over. I can't stand lying on my back anymore." Sam did just as Dean asked and turned him slightly to his side very carefully, not wanting to jar anything that he shouldn't.

"Your stomach still hurts, doesn't it?" _'Of course it does, why should stomach cramps be the one after effect of the drugs that doesn't get to make an appearance?' _Sam thought, running that list through his head one more time to make sure he had it memorized. He got a good view of yet another one on the list when he tried handing Dean the water he'd poured for him, the hand that extended itself to reach for the cup shaking uncontrollably and unable to grasp it. _'Yep, the tremors, he's got those too'. _"That been going on long?"

"Not really. It'll stop, just give it a minute. Is anyone ever going to tell me what's wrong with me Sam?" He answered his brother's question and asked his own before sipping the water from the straw Sam had already placed against his lips and handed him the pills Mark had left behind.

"Do you really want to know?" He asked as he watched his brother force down the mouthful of drugs and water he'd taken in, wanting to answer that question immediately.

"Didn't I not just ask?" There was that irritated tone starting again.

'_Keep it mellow Sam, don't rile him up…"Do you remember what happened the other day? When you fell out of bed?"_

"Sam, I can barely remember why I'm here. Will you please just tell me?" He begged in a near whine.

He took a deep breath before thinking of just how to answer Dean's question, knowing full well he couldn't tell him the truth, not yet anyway. "You had to have surgery the other day, and you had a reaction to some of the drugs they had to give you. They're finally starting to work their way out of your system, and you should be ok in a few days, then maybe we can see about getting out of here. I think six weeks in a hospital is long enough, don't you." _'Close enough to the truth,' _he thought.

"Please tell me everything still works right," he begged, remembering what Sam told him the night before when he mentioned the 'surgery' again. He had a pretty good idea what happened when he fell to the floor, even if he couldn't remember doing it.

"Yeah, it's fine. Don't worry, you don't need to change your name to Deana."

"Thank god for that." He said with a sigh of relief.

"You two know it's only 6 a.m., don't you? The damn birds aren't even up yet." Bobby mentioned as he threw on his boots and coat. "I'm heading out for some coffee, you guys need anything?"

"Yeah, coffee would be great; and some donuts while you're at it. You know, the chocolate kind, with sprinkles," Dean told him, it actually sounding like a good idea.

"I'll see what I can scrounge up," he replied as he left, letting the brother's talk in private.

"You want more water?" Sam asked Dean, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in the room since Bobby had walked out. Sam was afraid to say anything at this point, never knowing what would set Dean off. Their conversation had gone well enough so far, but Sam didn't really think that would last very long. He remembered the little bag of candy he'd tossed across the room nearly a week ago, and figured now was the time to dig it back out. If it would keep his brother happy for a little while, he'd take it. The longer Dean was happy, the longer everyone else was happy too.

"No, I'm good for now," Dean offered back, keeping the fact that he was ready to toss up the water he'd just swallowed to himself. Sam didn't need to hear it, and he didn't want to share it. He heard Sam rummaging around for something, but since he'd decided he liked it better with his eyes closed, he couldn't tell what.

"Here, I've got something for you," he smiled and ripped open the bag, dropping a few M&Ms in his brother's sweaty hand.

"Oh Sammy, you shouldn't have," he almost laughed, pretty sure that if he ate those, they'd end up on the floor with the water, but tossing them in his mouth anyway in the hopes that it would put a smile on his little brother's face. _'So much for the donuts', _he thought, knowing he'd never get those down later.

"You better now?"

"Yeah, thanks," he lied, needing to tell Sam what he wanted to hear. He didn't feel better, in fact, he was pretty much a sack of misery, but there wasn't a damn think he could do about it. "Sam, why don't you turn on the TV?" He'd asked, hoping to avoid anymore conversation at the moment.

They passed the time watching cartoons, neither one of them realizing it was Saturday until they'd turned the TV on. At this point, the days didn't really matter anymore anyway. Dean had finally settled into a comfortable position and was in some sort of animation heaven as he sat through The Transformers first, then X-Men, and on to the one that really made his day, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on what must have been the Saturday Morning Guy Channel. He was actually starting to feel a little better too.

"You know something Sam, that Raphael is one B.A.M.F. I think we have a lot in common, don't you? Now you, you're more of the Donatello type," Dean joked, causing Sam to actually laugh out loud.

"Does that mean Bobby is Splinter, cuz I'm not telling him he's a rat," that drew another round of laughter from both men, which ended the second The Powerpuff Girls started.

"Aww, come on…how do you go from Turtles to that? What the hell is a PowerPuff Girl anyway?" Dean groaned, and Sam turned the damn thing off before it got any more annoying.

"Did I hear laughing just now?" Mark stated, announcing his arrival. Sam was quick to his feet to greet him, suddenly nervous when he saw him pushing an empty chair before him. "Feeling better today Dean?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered, still not remembering the damn doctor's name.

"Good. How about we get you out of that bed for a little while today? Would you like that?" He asked his patient with that fake smile again. There was something about it Dean found annoying.

"How about you stop talking to me like I'm six? That's what I'd really like." He snottily replied.

"Fair enough. I can either call for a couple orderlies, or Sam and I can do it, it's your choice."

"Hmm, that one requires a lot of thought," he nearly barked. Sam already knew the answer to that, and was already sitting Dean up as the answer came out. "Sam can do it all by himself."

"Ok, let's do it then."

It wasn't easy, but Sam had done it himself, surprised at how light Dean had become. After some careful maneuvering though, Dean was sitting upright for the first time in weeks, and he had to admit, it did feel pretty damn good. As much as he hated doctors, he was actually considering being nice to the man for a change. Mark secured the various tubes in various places, and Dean was ready to go. Breakfast arrived shortly after, and as quickly as Dean's mood had gone up, it crashed right back down. He'd only just gotten rid of the need to vomit; he sure as hell didn't want it to return, but once again, he just decided to keep his mouth shut. After yesterday, he thought it was probably for the best anyway. He turned his head away from the tray in front of him, and instead of Sam, it was Mark that caught it first.

"I'll make a deal with you Dean, you get that meal down, and we'll take that IV out. It'd be nice to free up your hands, wouldn't it?" Dean said nothing, just raised the arm with the cast going up to the elbow, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "…and we'll see about taking that off today too."

He didn't like it, but a deal was a deal. He forced down everything in front of him, it not really being that difficult since it had no taste whatsoever, and smiled like a little kid when he was done, silently sticking out his arm to his brother and staring at his hand. His end of the bargain met, he fully expected his reward now. Sam just shook his head and walked out into the hall to find Dr. Horton hanging around at the desk. The doctor was starting to grow on Dean, and he found it harder and harder to dislike him, especially after he'd removed the uncomfortable nuisance in his hand; then removed the nuisance on the other one and giving him two good arms to use again. That was a small accomplishment alone. He didn't care that he felt like tossing his cookies into his lap, he was that damn happy…until she walked in.

"Oh hell no, not today…Sam…" he glared, first at her, then at him. There went the good mood he was in.

"Hi Dean, it's been a while. It's good to see you sitting up. It'll make what I have planned for you today a whole lot easier," Julia said with a smile as she dragged a heavy bag behind her, totally unaffected by Dean's sudden foul mood.

"Sam…" he seethed again, but it didn't matter. There was no way out of this. He'd actually considered forcing his breakfast back up to make her go away, but when did his body ever cooperate with him?

"You want me to stay Julia?" Sam asked, hoping and praying for the answer he wanted to hear.

"No, I think Dean and I would like a little privacy. Why don't you give us a little while alone together?"

"You got it." Sam grabbed his laptop and ran more then walked from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving his brother alone with his worst nightmare. He liked Julia, but somehow knew that she was definitely not someone you wanted mad at you. He wandered down the hallway, running into Bobby; who had finally found his way back to the floor. 

"Where did you go Bobby? You've been gone for hours."

"I had an idea about our good fella Trent, decided to get a list of property owned by the Waterson family. Damn thing is almost as long as my arm. Way I figure it, he's gotta be hidin' his activities in one of them, and it's gotta be pretty close by too," He pulled out the folded up pages from his pocket and sat in the waiting area to thumb through them, and Sam was right there next to him. "Safe to say we can eliminate anything not in Wisconsin or northern Illinois. That takes care of about half the list. Guess we need to check out the other half. Boot that damn thing up and start mapping these so I know where the hell I'm going and how to get there."

It took nearly two hours to make it through half of what was left on the list, and both men were half blind and ready to call it a day when Sam saw Julia finally exit the room and head in their direction, the exasperated look on her face hard to mistake. Sam knew more than anyone that Dean had that effect on people, almost as much as John had had.

"Well…" Sam one word asked, anxious to know what had taken so long, and wondering what he'd be walking into when he went back in.

"That was the most fun I've had in a long time, Sam. That brother of yours is one stubborn man, but not stubborn enough in the end. Hopefully he'll realize by tomorrow that that will go a lot easier and faster if he cooperates. He's all yours again Sam, and good luck. I didn't leave him in the best of moods. I'll see you same time tomorrow," she winked as she walked away, not interested at the moment in answering any questions Sam may have had, and Sam didn't want to push it. He just looked over at Bobby, shrugged his shoulders, and slowly walked back into the room, which he found surprisingly empty.

"Dean…" he called out, seeing no sign of his brother. He had to be there, it's not like he could get up and walk away. It took a few long moments before he heard him call out from behind the closed bathroom door, curious as to why he'd heard the toilet flushing when he pressed an ear against the wood and wondered how Dean had gotten in there in the first place. He figured it out pretty quickly when he heard the water running, then spitting, and was pretty sure his brother wasn't just brushing his teeth.

"Sam…I can't get the door open." he finally said, the sounds of him fumbling with the handle from inside an obvious ploy. Sam grabbed the door and shoved it in, smashing it hard into the chair directly behind it.

"Dean, you need to get out of the way or I can't get the door open." Sam waited for longer than he thought necessary before pushing the door open a second time, this attempt ending with it opening wide to reveal the scene behind it. There Dean sat, his face pasty white and his forehead coated in sweat as he shook spasmodically from head to toe. Sam dropped to his side and rested a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. "What's wrong Dean? Do I need to get the doctor?"

"Sam, what happened to my hair?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but he wasn't quite prepared to pose the other one, and when Sam heard him, he knew that Dean had obviously seen himself somehow.

"They had to shave it when…" he stopped and swallowed hard, not wanting to remember that day if he didn't have to.

"When what, Sam?" 

"They had to relieve the pressure on your brain, right after the accident. You do remember the accident, don't you?"

"Yeah Sam, I remember the accident," the pause was agonizing until Dean found a voice to continue, "Sam, what's wrong with my eyes? Why is one of them blue?"

Sam knew that was going to take a little more explaining, and Dean by the way he was still slightly shaking, it didn't look like he was in any condition to hear it right now, but he'd try anyway. "Dean, do you remember the woman from the accident? When you died…"

"I brought her back with me, yeah, I think I remember. She didn't make it. We were in the street together…she's connected to me somehow, right?"

"Right. Do you remember the rest?"

"Not really. You gotta salt and burn her, get rid of her."

"I know. Let's just talk about that tomorrow; you don't look very good right now. Do you want to get back in bed?" _'Damn it, how do I explain the rest?' _He wondered.

"No, I think I just want to be alone for now."

The last thing Sam wanted to do was to let Mark's warnings go unheeded and leave his brother alone for any length of time, but for some reason, he just couldn't say no. He wheeled Dean back into the room and into a corner that he would be clearly visible from the door, leaving him there as he'd asked before stepping out into the hallway, not straying far enough to be unable to at least hear anything that may go on inside. Bobby had been patiently waiting in the corridor, not wanting to intrude.

"You gonna be ok if I leave and check some of these places out? The sooner we find his hideout, the sooner this will be over?"

"I'll be ok here. Call me if you find anything, please."

"You know I will." 

Lunch had been delivered to Dean promptly at 1:00, and he sat picking at it for nearly a half hour with no intentions of eating it. Lunch wasn't part of his deal with the no-named doctor, and he figured there was no point in putting in the effort of eating, since it would just end up in the toilet later anyway. He was sore from the workout that sadomasochistic woman had put him through, depressed he could barely lift five pounds in his good hand and even less in the other, and sick to death of feeling nauseous and cramped up all the time. All that, and it was barely two p.m. Sam made no attempt at conversation, he knew that if Dean wanted to talk, he'd talk, and not a minute before. Back to the TV they went until well after five, when dinner and more pills showed up, delivered by Mark personally. He didn't stay long when he caught wind of the mood, not wanting to make Dean any more upset than he already appeared to be, and not in any kind of mood for a verbal barrage of any kind at the moment. After another half hour of sliding what was supposed to be food back and forth across the tray and occasional picking, Sam finally decided he had to say something.

"Dean, you have to eat something. Please stop playing with your food and eat it."

"I'm not hungry Sam."

"You're never hungry Dean, but you've still gotta eat. Don't make me get Mark back in here."

"_Hooray, no-named doctor's name is Mark! Yahoo, something positive accomplished today.'_ he thought as he caved into Sam's threat and just started forcing what looked like turkey with some bread-like pile of crap that must have been stuffing coated in some jellylike substance he assumed was gravy in, fully planning on leaving it in Sam's lap should it decide to come back up the way it had gone down, which it did about an hour or so later. It didn't make it to Sam's lap though. Dean had opted to spill his guts in private for the second time today when Sam had slipped out to call Bobby, wondering where the hell he'd been all afternoon.

By seven that evening, Dean had had enough, and decided that if he didn't just go to bed, he would probably start spewing things that he really didn't want to subject his little brother too now that his mood had degenerating to well beyond foul. Sam had gotten him out of the chair and back into the bed much more easily then he'd gotten him out, but it didn't help Dean's attitude any. If anything, it made him even more cross to know that he couldn't even get in and out of bed on his own, and he hated having to ask Sam for help. He pretty much just hated himself altogether at the moment. He surfed through the channels on the TV for all of an hour before finally drifting off to sleep, trying to mentally prepare himself for another trying day tomorrow. 

Sunday morning came, and to Dean's horror, it was an exact repeat of Saturday. Sam dragged him from the bed he really hadn't wanted to be out of anymore, wishing everyone would just leave him there and let him continue to rot, forced him to eat what they called breakfast again, then let that Brunhilda in to torture him for the second day in a row as he slipped out into the hall and abandoned him. She was ruthless, but today he gave her no fight now that he was focusing all his energy on keeping his breakfast down, which he'd actually managed to do, until she finally left, that is. He'd done it quickly and silently right after she'd left, but before Sam could find his way back into the room to catch him. He was weak, sore, tired, sick to his stomach, and really didn't think he could take much more.

He wondered why Bobby had snuck off again to only god knew where at the crack of dawn, and it was really starting to piss him off that neither him nor Sam would clue him in on what was happening outside the walls of the hospital. The sheer fact that Bobby was still here after what Sam had told him had been six weeks since the accident meant they had to be up to something, and he knew it by the way they whispered to each other when they thought he wasn't listening, or sneak into the hall when they thought he was sleeping. Something else was going on here, and damn it if he wasn't going to find out exactly what it was. By early afternoon, Dean and Sam had been sitting in silence most of the day, but when Bobby came back at the same time lunch showed up, Dean saw it as a golden opportunity to corner both men and get some answers.

He started off innocently enough, playing with the food in front of him while Sam and Bobby hung out in the hallway, having an intense conversation about something that he just couldn't hear, and waited patiently for the two of then to join him, knowing full well his brother would get on his case for making it look like he was eating. He could feel the irritation building inside, and after the shitty day he'd already had, he was going to make his brother feel as crappy as he did.

"Dean, you're not eating…" _'Ding-ding-ding…round one begins,' _Dean thought, surprised that it only took Sam a millisecond to say it after coming back into the room with Bobby right behind him.

"Hey Bobby, where you been?" He ignored Sam's comment and went straight to the older man first, trying to feel him out.

"Just taking care of some business," he answered him suspiciously. He knew Dean well enough to know he was fishing.

"Business, right. Would I be interested in this 'business'?"

"Dean, if you've got something to ask, just come out and ask it and quit playing games. They may work on Sam, but they don't work on me. I've been hunting since before you were in diapers, and I can see a load of bull crap from a mile away, and right now, you're a big, steaming pile of it."

'_Damn, round one didn't go so well, maybe I'll have better luck in round two.' _"Fine. What the fuck have you two been doing behind my back, and what the hell's been going on here for the last six weeks? I've got a fucking blue eye, sketchy to no memories of the last few weeks, and nobody seems to want to tell me how or why. Sam just keeps asking me if I remember anything, like the fate of the world hangs on my every word, and you aren't hanging around here after all this time just to hold Sam's hand. Somebody better start telling me what the hell's going on, because I really don't think I can take a whole lot more."

"Dean, would you please calm down," Sam asked when he saw Dean start to shake, his face turning an angry shade of red the longer he spoke.

"Fuck you Sam, I don't want to calm down! I want some fucking answers, and someone's going to give them to me or else…"

"Or else what Dean?" Bobby seethed, his patience with the man totally tapped out. "You really want to know where the hell I've been? I've been trying to find the son-of-a-bitch that wants you dead, that's where I've been. That accident, it was no accident. He may not have meant to hit you, but he did, and he's already been here once trying to finish the job, which he damn near succeeded in doing, if Sam hadn't saved your ass."

"Bobby…please don't, you know he doesn't mean it," Sam begged him to stop, but the older man was just as angry as the younger one now, and as tempers flared, so did the heated words.

"Shut up Sam, this is between Bobby and me," Dean barked at his brother, relegating Sam to a corner to let the two of them duke it out.

"No, you shut up Dean. Someone's trying to kill you, and your brother and I are the only ones that know it, and can stop it."

"Let him kill me, I really don't give a shit anymore. It sure as hell beats living like this. I should have just fucking died when he ran me over then, it would of saved everyone a lot of trouble," Dean screamed as he launched the tray in front of him at the nearest wall, sending it's contents spattering in various directions.

"That's it! Sam, I'm sorry, but if I don't go, I'm gonna kill him myself!" Bobby screamed right back as he stormed from the room, taking nothing but his coat with him.

"Bobby…wait," Sam called out as he ran after him, leaving Dean sitting in the room alone, his shaking elevated to nearly uncontrollable now as every inch of his body screamed out in pain.

Dean had had enough. He couldn't help but notice the bag Bobby had left behind sitting on Sam's bed, and with an idea in his head, wheeled himself the few feet over to it. He knew what he'd be looking for would be in there, it was Bobby's bag after all. The man was always prepared for just about anything. He found it right where he'd expected to, it was in the exact same spot he would have found it had it been his own bag, and dropped it in his lap before turning from the bed and rolling into the bathroom, not bothering to zip the bag back up. By the time Sam saw it, it wouldn't matter anyway. He knew the blade would be nice and sharp, and it would probably slide through his skin relatively painlessly, because Bobby was as anal about keeping his weapons in as tip top a shape as he was. Hell, the knife he now had resting in his lap could very well be sharp enough to cut his hands clean off it he tried hard enough, but he wouldn't go that far. No, one deep, clean cut to a major artery, and it would all be over, and he looked forward to that peace.

"I'm sorry Sam, I just can't do this anymore," was all he said as he closed and locked the bathroom door behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Bobby, wait," Sam called out as the older man stormed from of the room with a full head of steam trailing behind him, his anger evident in each and every heavy step he took. Sam chased after him as he left, wanting…no, needing the man to stay. Dean's words had stung him like an entire hive full of angry bees, and he didn't know if he could hold his own fragile emotions together on his own at the moment anymore. He hadn't had a worry free minute in over six weeks, and the ever present anxiety and fear that dogged him every day Dean had at first been in what he thought would be a never ending coma, then relentlessly hounded by a dead woman and her evil brother that caused one physical cruelty after another to him until he was an emaciated mess were really starting to take their toll on him as much as the drugs were now taking their toll on Dean. He'd done his best to hold himself together all this time, and even though he knew Dean hadn't really meant what he had said, his brother's words had cut him to the core and left him dangerously close to finally falling apart.

"Don't try to stop me Sam," Bobby nearly yelled back at the younger of the two men once they were out in the hallway and entirely out of Dean's earshot as all eyes in the broadcast vicinity heard the announcement and instantly trained on them, each pair wondering what on earth was going on behind that door now. "I know Dr. Horton said he'd be irritable, but he doesn't just have a bug up his ass, he's got the whole damn ant farm, and it's way too much. He's not just irritable; he's being a downright prick. Hell, I think he's even topped your Daddy in that department this time."

"I know Bobby, and I know it's hard to listen to, but he doesn't mean it, and he really can't help it," Sam tried excusing Dean's behavior to the man, not really sure if he was even listening, considering how upset he was.

"Why do you keep saying he can't help it? What do you know that I don't?" Bobby questioned, wondering if an answer would even help him deal with what he'd just heard at this point.

"It's a side effect of the drugs Bobby, extreme irritability and agitation. That and a whole lot more," Sam tried to explain.

"Why are you trying so hard to make excuses for the things he just said and did? He's been flying off the handle for no reason since he woke up. I've never heard that boy curse so much in my life, and directly to someone's face no less. For Christ's sake Sam, he just had the mother of all hissy fits and threw his lunch across the room like an angry little kid before he pretty much told me he didn't give a shit if he was alive or dead anymore. What the hell would make him say something like that? That brother of yours is one of the most obstinate people, next to John Winchester, I've ever met, and it breaks my heart to hear him talk about himself like that. I tell him someone is trying to kill him, and all he can say is 'good, let him'. I'm sorry Sam, you two boys are like family to me, but I just can't listen to him talk like that anymore," Bobby rambled, and Sam just let him go on until he was through, hoping he wouldn't turn his back on them and walk away. The raw emotion on Sam's face said it all, and when Bobby had finally calmed himself down enough, he clearly saw the pain and hurt clouding Sam's eyes. "Sam…"

"I have to make excuses for him Bobby, because I can't believe, not for one second, that my big brother, the one person that means everything to me, meant it when he said he wished he'd died when that car ran him over, like his life means nothing. I know he's in pain, and I know he's frustrated, but it's gotta be the drugs talking, not Dean. I have to believe that, because if I don't, it may drive me crazy wondering if he truly feels that way," Sam answered as he ran his hands through his unruly mop of hair like he was trying to keep the sane thoughts that were trying to flee his head in fear inside to corral the other, darker thoughts that were trying to drive them out and take over. "We gotta find a way to end this Bobby, and soon. I need my brother back, and I need him whole again."

Bobby let out a loud sigh as he stared into Sam's woefully sad eyes, wanting nothing more than to give him just that, his brother back. "I know Sam, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up at him, and I'm sure it was the last thing he needed to hear, he just makes me so mad sometimes."

"Tell me about it," Sam had tried flashing a smile as he replied, but it came across as forced and Bobby knew he was doing his best to keep from breaking down.

"Ok…so, irritability bordering on psychotic is what Dr. Horton really meant, is that what I gather? What else is there to look forward to, since I must have missed the briefing," Bobby asked Sam in a much calmer tone this time, hoping his obvious interest would make Sam feel a little less alone in this living nightmare.

"The list is too long to even tell you. He's already had the headaches, he sweats for no reason, his hands shake and he's always got stomach cramps, and as much as he tries to hide it, I know that when he does finally stop playing with his food and decides to eat it, he's just ends up throwing it up later. He doesn't know I know, but I think he's thrown up just about every meal he's tried to get down in the last two days. That and his heart racing on occasion is all supposed to be 'normal'," Sam said with a huff before continuing. "The rest of the list is a little more complicated, and I sure hope we don't run down anymore of it anytime soon. The last thing he need is insomnia, hallucinations, or suicidal tendencies, and that's just a few."

"Great. How long are we going to have the pleasure of the new and not-so-improved Dean's company, anyway?" Bobby asked, pretty much committing himself for the long haul when he saw the slight sign of relief in Sam's worried face.

"Not much longer, I hope, or I may have to kill him myself," Sam chuckled, the sound of Bobby saying 'we' enough for him to know he wouldn't need to live through the next few days alone.

"Well, let's go then. I think we have a mess to clean up, and lord knows he ain't gonna do it himself," the older man said with a another sigh, not really sure he was ready to head back into that room, but planning on doing just that anyway, telling himself it was solely for Sam's sake, but fully knowing better. Bobby had meant what he said about the boys being like family to him, and he would be there to help Sam help Dean muddle through until the end, however long it may take. "You ready for little more brotherly love today?"

"It's what I live for," Sam answered, the slight smile that did break out on his face actually looking somewhat genuine this time, until it turned into a confused scowl. "Hey Bobby, when Dean said he should have…well, you know…didn't he say 'when **he** ran me over'?"

"Yeah, I think so, why?" He replied with his own look of puzzlement.

"How'd he know it was a 'he'? You don't suppose he's starting to remember something, do you?" Sam hoped and prayed it to be true.

"I don't know Sam, but maybe now would not be the best time to ask," he commented, not wanting to be the one to even broach the subject at the moment. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

Both men ignored the hushed whispers and the few remaining ogling stares as they walked back to the room, the few nurses that were still looking on curiously finally turning away and returning to their work when they realized nothing overly traumatic was about to happen as the two men disappeared behind the door, closing it tight behind them. They tried to prepare themselves for what could either be another verbal assault of epic proportions or nothing more than a forced deafening silence, but both would breathe a small sigh of relief when they realized they would get neither, Sam being the first one to notice that the room was empty and the bathroom door was shut.

He pressed an ear softly up against the door to the room Dean had retreated to, not wanting to invade the small semblance of privacy the tiny area afforded his brother, but needing to know what was going on inside nonetheless, only to be greeted by nothing but silence from the other side. As much as he wanted to start pounding on the door to be let in, he'd decided to give his brother the personal space he was asking for by his actions alone, and as hard as it was for Sam to do nothing but wait for Dean to decide when he was ready to come out, he did just that and allotted his brother all the time in the world that he would need to cool himself off. Forcing himself to turn away from the door, he went instead to the mess on the wall and floor and started making an effort to clean it up, until Bobby's voice broke the tense quiet in the room.

"Sam, did you go in my bag for something?" The older man questioned, rather tentatively.

"No, why?" Sam asked in return, not liking the sound of the question the second it hit his ears.

"Because I'm pretty sure I didn't leave it open on the bed here," he responded to Sam as he rifled through the bag and giving Sam an _'Oh shit' _look. "What did you say about those 'other' side effects?"

As if Sam was suddenly a mind reader, he dropped the tray he'd had in his hands and let it crash back down to the floor with a resounding clang as it landed totally unwanted for the second time in one day against a wall while he crossed the room and instantly started pounding on the bathroom door, trying to hide the panic that suddenly welled inside him. "Dean, open up! What are you doing in there?" _'Fuck his privacy! If this is what he plans on doing with it, he doesn't need it!' _Sam couldn't help but scream to himself. He knew he should have never left his brother alone in that room.

"Sam…is that door locked?" Bobby posed another question when he noticed Sam never even tried to gain entry via traditional route, his tone becoming more concerned then it had been when he asked the first question though. He knew it was a stupid question, but Sam tried the handle anyway, and sure enough, it didn't budge. Dean had most definitely locked himself inside. "My knife, it ain't here Sam."

"DEAN…OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!" Sam now screamed as he pounded is fists hard against the thick wood, planning on counting to all of three before he attempted the near impossible. That door was heavy and thick, but being fueled by fear left him with the certainty that if he needed to bust it down, he could. The sudden, unmistakable sound of metal bouncing against tile filled Sam's mind with sheer terror, and before he could even count to one, he started his efforts of kicking the door down as he envisioned what was going on behind it.

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Dean had found himself hanging at the end of his rope and was ready to kick the chair out from under him, knowing he'd utterly had enough. Not a minute went by that he wasn't in some sort of pain, and he really didn't have much of a clue as to why. More and more pieces slowly started coming back to him, but there just weren't enough yet for him to see the whole picture, and every time he tried asking Sam, he could never get a straight answer. He knew there was a lot they were both keeping from him, but at this point, he really didn't care anymore. He was tired of being tired, tired of being sick, tired of being in pain, and tired of just being.

He raised the knife he'd taken from Bobby's bag up to his face and marveled in its perfection. The way it gleamed in the dim light of the room and reflected his own face back at him was almost a thing of beauty, the beauty that was marred only by what he saw as he stared at his own face gleaming back at him in the metal. He shivered at the sight of that one blue eye staring back at him like it wasn't even a part of him, and he knew he didn't want to live another minute in the world he reluctantly found himself thrown into. Drawing a thumb down the blade to make sure it would be sharp enough to do the trick, he smiled when it came away bloodied, the skin sliding apart effortlessly without him ever once feeling it. Poking the tip into the soft flesh of his shoulder, he hesitated for only a brief second as a trickle of blood escaped, and he fully intended on splaying his entire upper arm open, until the soft sound of his own name whispered in his ear stopped him.

"Dean…what are you doing?" She asked him, her voice somewhat calming as she spoke to him in a hushed tone. "That's not going to solve anything,"

Turning his attention away from what he was about to do, he sat in his chair and watched as the familiar looking blonde woman moved out from behind him and was now standing directly in front of him, her face glowing in what he could only assume was her own natural light. He knew that face, but as hard as he tried, it just wouldn't come to him from where. "How did you get in here? " He demanded, although he thought he knew the answer to his own question the moment he had asked it.

"You let me in the second you started digging that knife into yourself, "she answered him softly. She could feel the turmoil in him as he struggled with what he was about to do, even though he couldn't. The longer he sat there staring at her, the more confused he started becoming as an explosion of thoughts and memories started flooding his head, his brain unable to sort them out as fast as they were coming in. It took him some time, but he did finally find some clarity and he was able to actually speak to her.

"It's you…you're the one in my head. How is it that I can see you?" He asked her through the ever present throbbing in his brain, grateful that was all that was throbbing as the recollection of all their other encounters made their way back to him along with all the others.

"I don't know. When you were in the coma, it was like I was stuck there, in your head, but once you woke up, I think you pushed me out and I couldn't find you anymore. At first, the only way I could get back to you was through your pain. It's like I was lost in the dark, and it was a beacon of bright light for me to follow to you. That's why I had to cause it sometimes, and for that I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you anymore than I already had. You fought me so hard when I first tried, and that just made it even harder to reach you, until that night…you remember, when…"

"Yeah, I sort of remember," he groaned, wanting her to leave out the gory details he suddenly had full recollection of. Those particular ones, he decided, he could have done without.

"When you finally let me in," she tactfully continued, not skipping a beat. "I could find you easily after that, but something was preventing me from getting through to you, until now. I can feel how much pain you're in Dean, and it hurts me too, but what you're planning on doing isn't the answer. What you're feeling now is entirely drug induced and isn't coming from you, and it will pass with enough time, you just need to let it."

"Sam would be better off without me anyway," he ignored her and mumbled as his thoughts started to wander in his brother's direction.

"How can you say that?"

"I've taken everything from him, his girlfriend, our father, his chance at a happy life. If I hadn't come for him at school when I did, Jessica would probably still be alive. It's all my fault she's dead, just like it's my fault Dad's dead. Hell, I almost got Sammy killed when we were kids after that filthy shtriga came after him. If I'd just listened to my Dad when he said…" he stopped, not sure he could continue the thoughts anymore as he reexamined what he thought to be every screw up in his life, the cold handle of the knife still in his hand reminding him of what he was now sure he wanted to do. "I can't hurt Sam anymore, I just can't."

"You think you've hurt Sam? Dean, do you have any idea what you've actually done for Sam? He would be dead ten times over if it weren't for you, and vice versa. You were the one that ran from your burning house, cradling him in your arms and carrying him to safety. You were the one that saved him from that crazy family that wanted to hunt him for the sheer sport of it. You were the one that stopped that demon from beating his brains in after you saved your father. Have you forgotten all that, and all of the other times you've saved him?" She sighed before continuing, not really sure she'd made her point well enough yet. "If you think you're hurting Sam now, what do you think you'll do to him if you go through with this?"

"How the hell do you know all of that?" He asked her, horrified that anyone had such an intimate knowledge of his thoughts, even if she was a dead girl and wouldn't be sharing them with anyone.

"Because I was stuck in your head for five weeks, that's how. I knew Sam was right there every second of every day, barely eating, barely sleeping and barely living. He rarely left your side that entire time, and I heard every word he said to you, even if you didn't. He talked to you every day, and believe me when I say that your brother needs you more than you think you need him. You, Dean, are all he has left. I know this because he said so himself," she kept going, feeling the change in his mind set the more she spoke to him as she watched a lone tear stream down his face. "You only hurt him when you lie to him, or shut him out. You are not protecting him when you tell him you're fine when he clearly knows you're not, you just make it worse for both of you. Instead of just worrying about you, he worries about you and what may actually be wrong with you. Let him in once in a while, and let him help you. You told him once that you didn't want to do this alone, so maybe you should live up to your word."

"But I'm all he has left because of me," Dean tried to argue, but there was little fight left in him now.

"Trust me when I say he doesn't feel that way. He needs you, whether you want to believe it or not. Wounds will heal, scars will fade, but what you're going to do will be forever, and you'll not only be ending your own life, you'll be ending Sam's as well. Killing yourself will kill him, and I don't think you'd ever want to hurt your brother like that, would you?"

That had been it, that last thing she had said struck a chord in him that spurred his self-preservative instincts that had somehow gone on sabbatical to finally kick back in, and when he heard the frantic pounding against the door, he dropped Bobby's knife on the floor and listened to it echo throughout the room as he buried his face in his hands, wondering how he could have ever been thinking what he'd been thinking in the first place.

'I think that's my cue to leave, but remember something Dean, if my brother had loved me as much as yours loves you, we wouldn't be here right now. Don't forget that, please, because the time will come when my brother needs to be dealt with, and you and Sam are the only two that can. Now open that door, let your brother in, and let him help you."

In what amounted to the blink of an eye she was gone, leaving him shivering and alone in the cold room as he listened to what sounded like his brother trying desperately to kick his way inside. He rolled himself as close to the door as he could and flipped the lock, not really sure if he should open it or not, and not really sure he was ready to face his brother yet either. He didn't have much of a choice once he'd unlocked the door though, because the instant Sam heard the barely audible click, even over his own yelling, all sound stopped. Dean backed away from the door he knew was going to open any second and waited, his stomach tying itself in knots as the door slowly drifted open and Sam stuck his head inside.

"Dean?" Sam voiced through what Dean was sure was sheer terror, and the guilt almost overwhelmed him, knowing he'd been the cause of it.

"Sam…I think we need to talk."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"You want to come out, or do you want me to come in?" Sam asked him sheepishly as his head peeked through the door a little further than it had already been, his voice no longer the embodiment of sheer terror now that he could see that Dean was still breathing and physically still in one piece.

"Why don't you come in Sammy? I kinda like it in here. It's cozy, don't you think?" Dean replied, doing his best to hide the remorse he felt when he looked into Sam's eyes, especially when he noticed that they were clearly bloodshot and wet around the edges.

Sam quickly turned and threw Bobby an 'I think it's gonna be ok' look before he quickly slipped in through the door and closed it behind him, afraid that Dean would go bi-polar and change his mind at any second which would definitely cause him to start screaming at him to get the hell out. . Once he was completely inside, he rubbed his eyes hard to rid them of the moisture that had somehow washed over them so that Dean didn't see it and took a good, hard look at his brother. Little did he know Dean had already noticed.

Sam sighed when he saw how frail and broken his seemingly invincible brother looked as he sat in a wheelchair, soaked in sweat and trembling from head to toe. Avoiding eye contact with his little brother, Dean was staring at the wall next to Sam instead, just waiting for him to initiate the conversation. The older brother had no idea what to say to the younger once it was blatantly obvious to him that Sam knew what he had been mere seconds away from doing, and for one of the few times in their lives, he decided to let Sam take the lead, which he finally did when he couldn't take the uncomfortable silence anymore.

"You're bleeding Dean," he started off, breaking the ice with the last thing Dean wanted to hear first. _'Way to go for the throat right off the bat Sammy.'_

Looking down at his arm, he hadn't really realized how badly he had been bleeding until Sam had said it to him and now he knew why he'd brought it up first. He didn't think he'd driven that knife in that far before Trish had stopped him, but apparently he had and was probably going to need a few stitches. Guess there was no way of hiding this one from the nice doctor Mark.

"Yeah, I think I may have slipped while I was trying to shave," he joked, knowing Sam was NOT going to find it the least bit amusing.

"Shaving? With one of Bobby's Bowie's? What were you trying to shave, your armpits?" Sam asked with his eyebrows raised, ignoring Dean's feeble attempt at humor as he reached for a towel to toss at him. It landed in the bleeding man's lap, but he just sat there and ignored it.

"Yeah, how'd you know? Besides, it was the only sharp thing I could find," Dean huffed as he finally, and quite reluctantly, met Sam's stare, the mixture of emotions in it hard to decipher. Fear, anger, shock, shame, sympathy; they were all there, blended together in one long look that made him feel two feet tall. He'd hurt Sam, and hurt him bad.

"Are you going to pick up that towel and clean your arm off before anymore of your blood drips off your elbow into your lap?" Sam asked his brother, prompting Dean to look down at the little stain that had started forming on the blanket covering his lower half. Reaching for the towel with his bloodied right hand after the slice he'd put in his thumb went deep enough to draw its own free-flowing blood, he raised it to the source of the small river snaking its way down his arm and tried pressing it against the still bleeding wound he'd made there, the shaking of his hands making any kind of direct pressure nearly impossible.

Sam couldn't bear to watch his brother struggle with the towel when it was clear to both of them that he couldn't stop the tremors that had been plaguing him since he'd finally come out of the drug induced stupor he'd been forced into by Trent Waterson and made a tentative move in Dean's direction before pausing briefly to see what kind of reaction he would get. When he got no reaction of any kind whatsoever, he figured he had his brother's permission to go ahead and do what needed to be done. Taking the towel from Dean's shuddering hands, he pressed the white cloth firmly against his brother's arm and held it tight against him as Dean just dropped his head down and closed his eyes.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sam finally broached the subject, and Dean actually thought he was going to get away with avoiding it when Sam had gone as long as he had without saying a word. _'Fat chance of that.'_

"About what?" No, he really didn't want to talk about it, he really didn't want to talk at all. He wasn't sure he could hold his tongue and really didn't want to share his feelings with his baby brother. His feelings were the only thing in his pathetic excuse of a life he had that were his own, and he liked keeping it that way, no matter how much they hurt him as they festered inside.

"I think you know what," Sam offered, curious as to what sort of answer he would get.

"What do you want me to say Sam? You want me to admit that I just tried offing myself with one of Bobby's knives? Is that what you want to hear? Ok, well, I did, and I don't even know why," he rambled, the barrage of questions fueled by his own raw emotions that he suddenly had a bad feeling were coming out whether he wanted them to or not as Trish's words telling him to let Sam help him echoed in his head. "I say things I don't mean and can't control, I can't eat without throwing up, my stomach hurts all the time, I can't stop shaking for more than five minutes, and my head is always throbbing. That about sums things up Sammy, so I'm sorry if I just didn't want to do this anymore."

Sam swallowed hard when Dean had finished his confession, and decided that maybe it was the time to tell his brother everything because keeping the truth from him had nearly killed him. "Dean, I wasn't totally honest with you when I said you had a 'reaction' to the medication they gave you. I didn't want to tell you what really happened until you were better and could handle the truth."

"Because I've handled everything so well already, right?"

"Touché. Ok, here it is. We think that person that's trying to kill you purposely overdosed you hoping that you'd die, which you almost did. If I hadn't been here when…man, when you stopped breathing, it scared the hell out of me. Hell, everything over the last six weeks has scared the hell out of me. Then I read what the side effects could be, and you pretty much just rambled off half the list in one breath just now. I knew you would have major mood swings and could become suicidal, Mark even warned me that you might, but I never thought you'd actually try it, not you of all people. I should have seen this coming, I should told you everything but you were so out of it, I just wanted to…I don't know, protect you somehow like you're always protecting me. The person that did this to you, we think it's the same person that killed Trish and those two other women," Sam started before Dean promptly cut him off, sensing Sam's own emotions were starting to get the better of him too. Two emotional wrecks in the same room was one too many at the moment.

"Trish's brother, I know. He killed them all, and for some strange reason he wants me dead too. I guess I shouldn't have let it slip to him I knew what he had done," Dean added to what Sam seemed to already know.

"You did what?" Sam had to ask, unable to hide his surprise; not only at what Dean had just said but that he remembered it at all.

"Right before they put me under, I may have told him I knew he killed her," he informed his brother, pretty sure his slip of the tongue is what earned him a death sentence in Trent's eyes.

"How the hell do you remember that?"

"I don't know, I just do. It's like someone turned on a light switch in my head and I can remember everything that happened while I was awake clear as day. Maybe Trish left me with a little more than good advice when she took off while you were trying to break the door down," he told Sam with the best possible answer he could come up with and damn it if it wasn't a good one.

"She was here? You saw her? Actually saw her?" Sam asked, totally stunned at that new revelation. Dean was just full surprises today.

"Yeah, she was here. She's the one that stopped me from…well, you know. If she hadn't come when she did, you'd probably be salting and burning me right now."

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to add her to the Christmas card list just yet. She's still done one hell of a job putting you through hell. In my opinion, she owes you one, or two, or three."

"Christmas card list? Dude, you send Christmas cards?"

"You know what I mean. So, now we know exactly who we're after. The question now is what do we do about him?"

"Bring him in here, I'll gladly drive a stake through his heart, then blame it on the drugs. They made me crazy, I thought he was a vampire and I just couldn't help myself," Dean offered, and Sam just shook his head.

"Dean, you can't kill a vampire with a stake to the heart, you know that," Sam needed to remind him even though he knew Dean wasn't serious. At least he hoped Dean wasn't serious.

"But Sam, we're probably the only two people in this entire state that knows that," Dean tried to reason, and Sam actually thought he may not be kidding.

"Three people Dean, you forgot about Bobby," Sam reminded him again, and this time Dean fell silent.

"You think he's still pissed at me?" Dean asked after another long moment of silence.

"I think he'll get over it, but why don't you ask him yourself? He's right outside and besides, we can't stay in here all day," Sam reassured him and couldn't help but feel thankful when he pulled the towel away from his brother's arm and noticed that, save for an occasional shudder, he'd pretty much stopped shaking and bleeding. "We need to have Mark look at that arm…and that thumb. You really did a number on both of them. How can that not hurt?"

"Well, that knife was pretty sharp and started going in pretty clean. Besides, I haven't been able to really feel my fingers since yesterday anyway. They just sort of feel like they do when they start waking up after falling asleep, you know, that pins and needles feeling. That one of those side effects you were talking about, because I'd hate to think that's gonna be permanent too. It may seriously interfere with my trigger-pulling abilities."

"Yeah Dean, that's one of them too. Anything else you haven't told me yet because I don't think I can take too many more surprises?"

"Nothing that comes to mind right now, Sammy."

"Come on then, let's get out of here before Bobby files a missing person's report and sends a search and rescue team in."

"Hey Sam, do we really need to tell that quack about what just happened? I mean, you could just put a couple stitches in there yourself, couldn't you?"

"Don't worry Dean; he won't put you in restraints when he's done, unless you piss him off. You haven't exactly been a ray of sunshine to him you know?" Sam reminded him of his lack of friendly personality when it came to Mark, and immediately changed his tune when he saw the frown spread across Dean's face. "If it will make you feel better, I'll ask him to keep it between us, deal?"

"Yeah, whatever. Just help me back into bed Sam, please. I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open anymore," Dean asked, honestly wanting nothing more than to sleep for the next two weeks. He was physically and emotionally drained and could only hope he felt better in the morning.

"Only if you promise not to try dying in your sleep," Sam snorted back, and this time it was Dean that was left just shaking his head.

"So not funny," Dean commented, then asked a question that suddenly popped into his head from out of the blue. "Hey Sam, if Dr. Kevorkian wants me dead so bad, why didn't he just off me during the surgery? It's not like he didn't have the perfect opportunity."

"I think because Mark was there and he couldn't get away with it, not without getting caught. I still don't think he's done with you yet, but at least we're safe for now."

"What do you mean, 'safe for now'?"

"Trent took off right after you almost died. Someone tipped off his old man, who owns like half of Wisconsin, and he sent the prick away until this all blows over. You know serial killers though. Like any other predator, they never hunt too far from their comfort zone. He'll be back, and hopefully we'll be ready."

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He was angry. Angry and frustrated. It just wasn't fair that one man could have so much good fortune. Everything he had done and Dean just wouldn't die. He felt like it was becoming some sort of twisted game that he just couldn't seem to win, even though he had all the aces in the deck stacked up in front of him and all Dean had was a lousy pair of twos. It was what had partially prompted him to tell his parents that he was taking a drive to the mountains to clear his head for a couple of weeks before returning to face the music for what he'd 'accidentally' done to that 'poor young man' that his sister had almost killed with her reckless driving. God, his parents were idiots, and one of these days, he was going to add them to his steadily growing list of things to do. For now though, he was more concerned with what was at the top of that list…Dean and Julia.

Once he'd checked in with his sperm and egg donors when he'd arrived on the red eye from Milwaukee, they really didn't give two shits where he went or what he did. As long as he wasn't treating patients anywhere near the one he'd almost done in for the time being, he could take a trip to the moon and they probably wouldn't even notice. He had never even bothered to unpack his bag, knowing full well he wouldn't be staying very long. He'd shown his face, made his announcement, taken one of the family cars and took off for the White Mountains some two hours away. Leaving the car at one of the numerous family homes, he 'borrowed' a car from someone at a local grocery store and headed east, taking the nearly twenty-four hour drive slow and steady.

He was in no real hurry, after all. Dean wouldn't really start noticing anything was wrong until they finally took that catheter out, which probably wouldn't be for another three of four days at the least considering how much damage he'd actually done to himself by falling from that bed and then it would take another few days for it to become totally unbearable, maybe even deadly if left ignored. Considering stomach cramps were one major side effect of those drugs he'd overloaded him with, they would more than likely be treated just that way too…ignored.

He was positive he'd torn those few stitches he'd actually bothered to place inside him to close that sizable tear that had been made with the forceful extraction of the previous tubing after that hard jab he'd shot him before he'd left, but until his bladder started holding fluid and filling up to work on its own, it just wasn't an issue. He did enjoy the thought of what would happen though when the time did finally come and butterflies started circling his stomach when he thought about just how painful it would be. God, how he hoped and prayed he could watch it firsthand.

Then there was Julia. He thought about her every day also, so pretty, so blonde, so perfect. He didn't hate her, not personally, but he hated what she was. She was the most important person in the world to Mark Horton and for that unfortunate twist of her fate she would be sorry. He had big plans for her. She wasn't just going to be his Trish for a few hours; she was going to be his Trish for few days, maybe even a few weeks. The ideas that ran through his head were endless, and he was anxious to set them into motion.

He'd been away for nearly four days, and it had been four days too long. Stopping only for gas when needed at the most remote stations in the smallest towns he could find or sleeping in the back seat for a couple hours at a time here and there at rest areas or truck stops, he completed the trip in just under two days time. The sight of his secret hideaway had put the first smile on his face that he had had in those four days, the last one he'd sported being the one that spread wide when he'd last seen Dean. There was something about the way his body jerked against his hands when he'd thrust his fingers into his already damaged parts that always seemed to make him happy, even when he was down. _'Oh well, I'll have plenty of amusement soon enough,' _ he thought as he pulled into the garage and let the door close before killing the engine and going inside. For now, he was going to sleep, but tomorrow, he would prepare.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Sam opened the bathroom door as wide as it would go to reveal the awaiting room outside and stood behind it as he waited patiently for Dean to make an effort to wheel himself out, the effort that never came for the few long moments he stood there watching him. Dean didn't move a muscle, he just sat there with his hands buried under the blanket tucked around his lap and stared at the knife he'd dropped on the floor the second Trish had announced her presence and stopped him from making what would have been the biggest mistake of his life. The longer he sat there making no effort to leave what he considered to be the considerably comfortable confines of the tiny bathroom, Sam couldn't help but wonder if there was something his brother still needed to say to him.

"Dean? Come on man, the chair isn't going to wheel itself out," Sam tossed the remark in his most benign voice possible, wanting to spur either his brother's movements or thoughts but not wanting to instigate any further confrontations. Dean seemed calm enough now, but that was still subject to change at a moment's notice, and they both knew it. When his brother just continued his unwavering blank stare at the weapon he'd let carelessly fall from his hand to the floor and said nothing, Sam couldn't help but start to worry about what thoughts may be going through his Dean's overly taxed mind again.

"Hey, Dean, what is it?" Sam asked as he approached him quickly and grabbed the knife from its resting spot on the floor before Dean even had a chance to think or react. Something in the way Dean stared at the blade made a little voice in the back of Sam's head scream at him to take possession of it before his brother could and he did just that as he bent down to his knees and came face to face with that vacant look that didn't move from where it was trained, even after the object it seemed to be fixed to was gone and Sam realized Dean wasn't really staring at the knife at all but staring at what it represented instead.

"I was really gonna do it Sam, I was really going to kill myself. I really wanted to do it too, and that scares me a little. How could I have even…" he said as he finally looked up into Sam's face and Sam cut him off before he could go any further.

"It wasn't all you, remember? It's over now, just let it go. Sleep it off and maybe tomorrow will be better," he told his brother as he breathed a small sigh of relief. He hated the fact that Dean had to feel the guilt of what he'd just tried to do on top of everything else already piled heavily on him but he was thankful that at least this particular crisis seemed to have passed and he wanted nothing more than to forget it had ever happened and move on. They had bigger problems at the moment to deal with, of that there was no denying.

"Give me the knife back Sam," Dean nearly ordered as he extended an extremely shaky hand to him and Sam could see now why he'd had them buried out of his sight under the blanket. He held his breath as he eyed Dean suspiciously and the look didn't go unnoticed. "I think I should be the one to give it back, don't you?"

Sam's semi-relieved exhale had been clearly audible to Dean but his outstretched hand never wavered, even as it shook nearly uncontrollably now, making it a clear indication to Sam that he wasn't moving until his baby brother complied with his wishes. Grabbing his older brother's unsteady hand in one of his own, Sam pressed the handle of the knife firmly against Dean's palm and closed his fingers tightly around it, then stood back on high alert as he waited for Dean to do or say something.

"I think you better push me Sammy. I don't think I can do it myself," he finally told his brother as he rested both the knife and his hand in his lap, indicating he was ready to face the world again, or at least he was ready to give it a try. Letting out the rest of that relieved sigh, Sam took a position behind the chair, grabbed both handles, and pushed his brother out and right up to Bobby, who had been pacing the floor the entire time they'd had themselves locked inside.

"Hey Bobby, I…umm…think maybe this belongs to you," Dean boyishly told him in an overly hushed tone as he handed the weapon back to its rightful owner with that perpetually quaking hand that just continued to shake seemingly non-stop no matter what he did or how hard he tried to control it. He'd made eye contact with Bobby as briefly as possible before turning his gaze back down to the floor like a guilt-ridden child that knew he'd been caught red handed with not just one but both hands in the cookie jar after being specifically told 'NO' once he saw the angered look on his face that masked what he knew full well was hiding directly behind it. He'd not only nearly scared the life out of Sam, but he had scared the hell out of Bobby as well.

"What was your first clue kid, the fact that it was hidden in my zipped up bag?" He returned the comment in a rather unpleasant tone as he grabbed Dean's arm hard by the wrist to hold it steady as he 

carefully took the knife from his shaking hand. No sooner had Bobby released the appendage from his grip had Dean quickly concealed it back under the blanket in his lap in an effort to hide his unsteadiness from not only both men but himself also. "You try something like that again and…"

"Bobby, please," Sam nearly begged, the memory of what started this whole incident still very fresh in his mind and not wanting to repeat it again.

"No Sam, it's ok. He's right, I deserve it. I had no business digging through his stuff…" he started, but didn't get very far before the seasoned hunter cut him off.

"You think that's why I'm so mad at you I could kill you myself right now?" He nearly fumed now that the almost unbearable fear he'd felt the second he noticed the knife was gone had been replaced by something akin to parental fury.

"I guess not," Dean muttered back.

"You'd guess right boy," Bobby retorted as he crossed his arms over his chest and Sam knew the man had something he wanted to get off that chest and he wanted to get if off that chest in private.

"I'll go see if I can find Mark," Sam told them both as Bobby continued staring Dean down and Dean just continued staring at whatever it was on the floor that was so fascinating to him at the moment. It was obvious that Bobby wanted to say his piece and feeling the tension exuding from him starting to fill the room, he knew he wanted to keep it between the two of them, probably to help Dean save face before his brother. He'd allow him just that too, as it seemed Bobby was the only person able to keep Dean in line as of late. He wandered out the door and closed it behind him, leaving the two of them alone to hash out whatever it was Bobby had on his mind.

"You get that all out of your system now?" Bobby changed his tone from angered to worried now that Sam was gone.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered, still keeping his eyes peeled on the floor when he heard how much he'd upset the older man by the tone of his voice, the only person in the world beside Sam he considered family and would probably die for if need be.

"Good, because you nearly gave that brother of yours a heart attack and we've got enough problems right now without adding one more. You may not realize it Dean, but that brother of yours is lost without you. He needs you more than the air he breathes. You mean just about everything in the world to him and…"

"Yeah, I know. You're the second person to tell me that today. I think I got it now," Dean remarked, too physically tired and emotionally drained to think anymore. He just wanted to get in bed and go to sleep, even though it was barely three o'clock in the afternoon and pray that Sam was right about tomorrow being a better day.

"What?" Bobby questioned him, the irritation he felt at Dean cutting him off gone as the confusion at what he'd just said won out. "Who else told you that today?"

"Long story, never mind," Dean answered him as he tried getting comfortable in the suddenly very uncomfortable chair he was seated in. The more the adrenaline rush he'd had wore off, the more his head throbbed and his stomach ached but he did his best to keep it from showing on his face. "Don't worry, I promise I won't try it again. Besides, if Sam had been straight up with me in the first place, none of this would have happened, would it? Trust me, it won't happen again, ever, I swear."

"Good, because if you do decide to try a stunt like that again and are successful, I'll make damn sure you don't get a proper burial so you have to roam the halls of this place aimlessly until the end of time, you got that? Maybe even trap you in a ring of salt and make you watch 'Pretty Woman' over and over again as punishment," he smiled somewhat at the threat as Dean continued to squirm slightly in his seat.

"That's a little harsh don't you think? You'd really do that to me?" He'd asked with raised eyebrows, somewhat surprised at the comment.

"You really have to ask?" Bobby glared back, his face cloaked in severe seriousness.

"Ok, guess not," Dean answered when he saw the stare the older man had given him and Bobby could no longer ignore the pained look that had finally spread itself across the young man's weary face or the way he fidgeted in the chair like his body was covered in honey as fire ants marched across him and took to eating his flesh.

"Something wrong Dean?"

"I'm just really tired Bobby, it's been a long day," he told him and made an effort to turn himself in the direction of the bed, which wasn't really going to happen with his hands still as jittery as they were. Bobby said nothing as he took hold of the handles on the back of the chair and turned him around to face his target. By the time Sam came back into the room with Mark in tow, Dean was already back in his bed, 

covered with a blanket up to his chin and already in a deep sleep now that total exhaustion had finally won out for the day.

Sam had told the nurses at the station he'd had a slight 'emergency' and asked that they page Mark, but wouldn't give them any more detail than that before taking up residence against the wall just beyond the elevator doors and waited rather impatiently for him to step off. He didn't have to wait long and Mark was there within minutes with an obviously anxious look on his face. Sam had told him everything, well, almost everything. Leaving out the part about Trish , he'd relayed exactly what Dean had told him about not being able to keep his food down and that between his head and his stomach he was always in one kind of pain or another or both but hadn't bothered to tell anyone. _'Typical Dean,' _he'd thought to himself without saying.

Once he'd gotten that much out, he knew he'd have to start on the hard part, the part he dreaded telling him because he really didn't want to think about what could have been and almost was for another minute. Mark listened as Sam slowly ran through the events of the last couple hours in detail, nodding every now and then, occasionally shaking his head in the affirmative, or scratching his chin like he was deep in thought. He asked no questions, just let Sam vent it all and by the time he was finished, the young man seemed barely able to hold his emotions together. Every time Mark talked to Sam, he was more and more impressed with how much the kid could take without losing it, but he was pretty sure that Sam had somehow finally found his breaking point. Sam had nearly begged him to keep what had happened between just them and after hearing the falter in his voice and seeing the nearly desperate look on his face, he reluctantly agreed.

Sam had practically dragged Mark into the room and was totally shocked to not only see his brother back in his bed but already sleeping relatively soundly as well. What Sam had failed to realize was that between filling Mark in on all of the details before making a monumental effort to compose himself enough to go back inside to face Dean, he'd been out in the hall for over an hour.

Mark wasted no time assessing Dean's new, and hopefully final round of injuries and determined that the arm wouldn't be in need stitching, but the thumb most definitely would. Butterflies would hold the long, nearly surgical incision in his forearm closed quite nicely but the thumb had been cut nearly down to the bone. He'd taken care of sewing that deeply cut wound closed as quickly as possible and was not as surprised as he probably should have been that everything he did hadn't caused his patient to stir, not once. He'd finished wrapping the thumb and left without saying a word when Sam insisted they would be alright until morning. Stopping at the nurses' station on his way out, he gave orders for regular doses of pain medication whether they were asked for or not, because according to Sam, they would never be asked for, ever. He also left orders before leaving the floor to be paged immediately should anything else happen in that room tonight and he meant **anything** because he just couldn't shake the feeling he had that something else was wrong, he just didn't know what yet.

Bobby had waited for Sam to finally relax and settle in for the afternoon before leaving him alone with his sleeping brother and his thoughts, wanting to wipe a few more properties on his long list of possible hideouts off of it before calling it a day now that it was pretty much into early evening now. Sam had refused Bobby's offer to bring him back something to eat, telling him he was too wound up to do anything and as he walked out the door, he caught one last glimpse of Sam just sitting in a chair staring at his brother's sleeping face. God, how he hoped he'd find something to put an end to the mess the Winchesters had been forcibly thrown into against their will because if anyone didn't deserve what they were being put through, it was them. By the time he'd returned empty-handed it was well into night and not only was Dean still sound asleep, Sam was as well.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wakey Wakey, hands off snaky little brother, time to rise and shine and face the new day Sammy," Dean repeatedly poked his brother in the shoulder rather hard as he amusedly chuckled to himself.

Sam forced his eyes open to look at the human alarm clock sitting before him through rather bewildered eyes when he realized that Dean was nearly face to face with him and smiling like the cat that just ate the canary in one bite, leaving no evidence of foul play behind him.

"Dean? What the hell are you doing up? How the hell did you get up? What time is it?" He rambled off questions mindlessly without waiting for answers as he rubbed his face with his hands and tried bringing himself fully around.

"Whoa, one question at a time Sam. It's eight a.m. and I'm up because I've been sleeping since four 

o'clock yesterday afternoon. I'm also not a total cripple you know, I can get out of my bed without your help if I try hard enough and you need to get your ass out of your bed now too. Bobby's still got more places on that damn list of his that I can count on both hands and I think you should help him check them out. The two of you will burn through it a lot faster than just Bobby will on his own and maybe you'll find something that'll help us. Oh, and if you actually find the bastard, don't hesitate to shoot him for me Sam, I mean it."

Sam was wide awake now, the suggestion of him leaving Dean alone all day not one that he was even remotely going to entertain after the events of the day before. "No way Dean, I'm not going anywhere. Bobby's quite capable of handling that list by himself and after yesterday…"

"Yesterday's over Sam. You and Bobby need to find him and stop him before he picks another victim. You said it yourself, he won't be gone long and when he comes back he's gonna be like a junkie needing a fix. Don't worry about me; I'll be just fine here by myself. Besides, once you walk out that door I'm sure that brutal contortionist with the pretty face will be here to twist me like a pretzel all morning which will just make me sleep the afternoon away anyway," Dean reasoned with his brother quite steadfastly. He wasn't taking no for an answer and Sam knew it, but agreed to it even though he didn't like it, not one bit.

"Fine. You win. But I swear Dean, if you…"

"Shut up and get moving Sam. Bobby went for coffee and donuts and wants you ready to go when he gets back, which should be in about ten minutes now that you wasted the last five arguing with me."

"What the hell's gotten into you? The real Dean must have been abducted by aliens and you were left in his place last night because you are not the brother that was here yesterday," Sam scowled as he spoke, which elicited a big smile from Dean.

"Like I already told you Sammy, that was yesterday and I, for one, am sick of being that person that I was yesterday. Now get your damn shoes on and get the hell out of here, I've got shit to do."

"You've got what to do?" Sam asked, somewhat surprised at Dean's sudden change in behavior. "What shit could you possibly have to do?"

"I need to work on getting my ass out of this chair and I really don't want you here while I'm doing it, ok. Now would you please go…please?"

"Ok, ok…I'm going," Sam whined as he got up and walked in the direction of the bathroom, smiling all the way. It was good to have his brother back and he hoped he was here to stay.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N:I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. I know it is kinda dragging on a little too long, but I had to toss this chapter in for Vanessa per her request. I know it's not necessarily what you were looking for, but it was the best I could do with the limited info I could find. Hope you all like it anyway!_

_Oh, and as always, thank you for all the great feedback you keep giving me even though I'm so pathetic at responding to it. I am grateful for each and every comment left!!_

Chapter 22 (Jeez, is there no end to this story?)

Dean had been absolutely right in his assessment of how his day was going to go as he lay in his bed utterly exhausted and more than half asleep while he let the events of the last few hours run themselves through his mind. All in all, it hadn't necessarily been a bad day, but it hadn't gone exactly the way he'd hoped it would either and now that it was over, he was just grateful to be able to close his eyes and listen to the quiet of the room as he replayed the day in his head so he could answer all of the inevitable questions Sam would ask later.

It had been the pain that had dragged him from his sleep in the wee hours of the morning, the pain that he was very much accustomed to by now but just couldn't seem to get used to, even though it was always there in one way or another. Usually, it would just be a dull ache that amounted to nothing more than an annoying nuisance and he'd ignore it as best he could, but sometimes it would burn through his entire midsection like gladiators were having violent chariot races to the death complete with flailing whips and chains in his intestines. He had actually thought about waking Sam, but quickly dismissed the idea when he heard the deep, rhythmic breathing coming from his little brother's direction. Sam was actually in a peacefully deep sleep and since that happened only on the rarest of occasions, he wasn't going to do anything to disturb that. He just rolled onto his side, curled himself into a little ball and waited for the intense pain to die itself down like it always eventually did.

Bobby had heard him fidgeting in the bed as he dozed in the lazy boy next to Sam but didn't really think anything of it until the pained groan that had drifted through the air and across the room settled in his ears; the groan Dean hadn't even realized he'd let out. Consulting his internal clock and determining it to be nearly four in the morning already, he decided it was time to get up anyway and as quietly as he could, drug himself to his feet and across the dark room to investigate the cause of the disconcerting noise before Sam ever caught wind that something was amiss. He took one look at Dean's scrunched up, pain contorted face and snuck out of the room so quietly neither Sam nor Dean had heard him. The nurse that returned with him had been nearly as quiet as Bobby had been when he left and between the two of them they silently got him to swallow down whatever it had been that Mark had ordered them to start a regime of once he finally woke up.

Slowly the agony inside him reduced itself to nearly nothing and Bobby could hear his breathing even out as his body relaxed. Dean stretched his legs back out and laid there waiting to inevitably fall back asleep now that they had drugged him up again, but the usual drowsiness after drugs never came. The longer he laid still and stared at the ceiling, the better he felt and for the first time in what seemed like a long time, he actually felt pretty damn good. Even the headache he'd perpetually had was gone for the moment, making 'good' somewhat of an understatement. He even felt good enough to drag himself from the bed and back into the chair that was parked right next to him without one ounce of help from Bobby, who had been right there should his assistance have been needed. Pulling a blanket off the bed and throwing it over his lap as he motioned towards the door, he let Bobby wheel him out into the hallway. All eyes fixed on him as they wandered down the hall to the small social area and Bobby took up a spot directly across from where he'd parked Dean. He knew that look on Dean's face. It was that unmistakable look of the hunter inside him that wanted to know exactly what was going on and he wanted to know it now that he was ready to hear it.

Bobby told him everything from start to finish without Dean interrupting him once. Some of what the man said he already knew, but a lot of it he didn't and he just shook his head occasionally in acknowledgement at each new piece of information Bobby offered. Sam had never actually told him the severity of most of his injuries and as the older man filled him in on exactly what his body had been through he couldn't help but feel a little sick for what must have been going through Sam's mind during all of that time. He had been gratefully able to sleep during the entire ordeal, but his brother had to watch day in and day out as things would go from bad to worse to grim, then back to worse before finally getting better. The thought also occurred to Dean that Bobby had been forced to watch it all too, even though you would never know it by the sound of his voice. It was the look in his eyes that gave him away though, and Bobby had been just as effected by it as Sam had.

Casually clearing his throat as if nothing was wrong when he was finally done relaying what had probably been one of the worst months of his life, Bobby switched subjects to the issue at hand. He didn't need to explain what was going on with Trent to Dean, that part of the story Dean already knew. What he did need to tell him was that everywhere they had looked so far they had come up empty at finding his lair and they were starting to run out of places to search. He really only had six more possible locations and if they came up empty there, it would be back to the old drawing board. Bobby had hoped that Dean could shed some light on this particular dilemma, but as much as he did know about what was going on, on this subject he was still in the dark. Trish hadn't been able to shed any light on Trent's whereabouts either because she either didn't have time to tell him or she just didn't know.

By the time they were done tossing ideas back and forth between the two of them it was nearly eight in the morning and Bobby really wanted to get a move on. Dean had been a little more than overwhelmed at what Bobby had told him earlier and really just wanted some time alone to think. It had taken a lot of convincing, but he did finally talk the older man into taking his little brother with him, the argument that Sam needed a break even more than he did being the ultimate reason he finally agreed, only if Dean woke Sam up while he went on a coffee run and promised that he would have Sam ready to go by the time he got back. Dean readily accepted the man's terms and wheeled himself back into the room as Bobby hit the elevators and set about waking his brother up.

Sam had sluggishly walked his way to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him a little harder than he had really needed to after he had forced him to get up and Dean could hear him going about his usual business of the morning. He couldn't help but wonder to himself when he'd be able to enjoy the feeling of the morning's first trip to the toilet again, but fully intended on asking when Mark decided to make his appearance sometime during the earlier part of the day. He knew the doctor would come to check on him sometime before lunch, he'd vaguely heard him tell Sam so when he was half asleep the day before as the man sewed his thumb closed and hoped it would be while Sam and Bobby were still gone. There were just some things he needed to ask that Sam just didn't need to know.

By the time Sam had finished his business, washed his hands and brushed his teeth, Bobby had returned and was standing in the doorway of the room; cross-armed and patiently tapping his foot on the floor while holding a big cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand for Sam as he sipped from the one he held in the other. The youngest of the three men shuffled out of the tiny lavatory, rubbing his eyes and yawning and gave Dean an overly concerned look when he noticed that Bobby had brought back more than one giant Starbuck's cup besides his own to the room.

"Dean, do you really think you should be drinking that?" Sam had asked him in that annoying, motherly tone that he hated so much and he answered him with a quick, even-toned response.

"Yeah, I do. It's not gonna kill me and I haven't had coffee in…umm…how long have I been here?"

"Too long," was all Sam could say as he shook his head before taking his own cup from Bobby's hands and started downing the much needed jolt of caffeine as Dean emptied his own cup down his throat and felt the warm liquid hit his empty stomach like a hot poker fresh from the fireplace.

He felt his stomach muscles involuntarily clench in preparation of his mouth spreading the coffee he'd just drank entirely too fast back out and all over the floor but when he realized it had just been the fact that he had chugged the nearly scalding hot liquid that his stomach hadn't been ready for and that it was indeed going to stay put, he breathed a huge internal sigh of relief. He threw his brother the biggest smile he could as he watched Sam stuff the remnants of the second strawberry cream coated, sprinkle ridden sugar buzz Bobby had also brought back with him into his mouth. He was anxious for the two of them to leave, knowing that Julia would be around soon enough to begin his torture for the day. Today though, today would be different. Today, he would actually be making an effort.

After three or four 'Are you sure you'll be ok' questions from Sam and an equal amount of 'Yes Sam, now please go' responses from Dean, Bobby finally took some initiative and dragged the apprehensive young man from the room and out of the building, leaving Dean blessedly alone. Alone for all of twenty minutes before Mark showed up, his face sporting that happy-go-lucky plastered on fake smile when he'd walked in that quickly turned into a deep frown when he saw that Dean was by himself. Sam had told him everything that had happened the day before… everything, and Mark couldn't figure out what on god's green earth could have made Sam decide it was alright to leave Dean alone, until he started talking to him, that is.

Dean had shot out one question after another to the doctor and his head nearly started spinning when he realized that this must be the real Dean, the Dean that had been buried deep inside that bruised, broken and battered body that was always seemingly trapped behind sedatives and drugs and could never really find a way to show his own face through the haze. With one amazingly intelligent question after another being asked and the answers all apparently being totally understood, Mark could see why Sam never gave up on him, even when it didn't look like there would be any hope he would live. By the time Dean had run out of things to ask and decided the conversation was over, Mark was slightly stunned that he had been talking to the same person that had just yesterday tried ending his own life, but he no longer questioned Sam's decision to leave him alone. Dean, it seemed, was just fine today.

No sooner had Mark left had breakfast been delivered along with another dose of whatever it was they'd given him earlier to quell the nearly excruciating pain he'd been in and Dean was ready for his next challenge of the morning. He knew if the coffee he had practically inhaled on an empty stomach stayed down, the god awful hospital food sitting in front of him should be no problem and considering the fact that he was actually hungry for the first time in days, he'd cleaned the tray in record time. Nearing 9:15 in the morning, Dean just turned himself to face the door, sat there in his chair pondering what Mark had told him and waited.

Try as he may, Dean could do nothing to convince the doctor to remove the last vestige of his temporary disabilities, telling him that if he didn't heal enough before they took it out, he'd be worse off than he was before the injuries had occurred in the first place. Three more days, it would be at least three more days, maybe more, before he would be free, free of the remaining restraints that were limiting his movements. Ignoring the 'maybe more' at the tail end of what Mark had said, Dean focused on three days. He had three days to convince them all he was fine because if he had to spend anymore than three more days sitting in that chair with that last remaining tube stuck up there where it clearly didn't belong, he'd probably go nuts. That and the fact that he desperately wanted to just take a shower. That, at least, could be arranged.

Right on schedule she walked into the room like she did every day for the past two days now at ten a.m. on the dot and she was a little startled to see him sitting there waiting for her with a smile on his face. She had never seen him show any emotion other than belligerence and irritation or hostility, and that was putting it mildly. Mark had told her what had happened and this was definitely not what she had expected when she walked in the door today.

"Good morning Dean," she tentatively asked, then waited for him to respond. Usually it was with something along the lines of 'What's so f'n good about it?' or 'That's your opinion, so keep it to yourself', but today had been different.

"Hey," was the pleasantly toned, one word response and for a second she thought she would be rendered speechless. She dared to ask another question now that her toe was in the water and the temperature seemed a little warmer than usual.

"How do you feel today?" She asked next, the typical response to that being 'I'm fine'.

"Pretty damn good," he lightheartedly tossed the comment and this time she really had been rendered speechless. She gave her head a little shake to snap her back to the reality she had unbelievably found herself in and prayed he would stay as pleasant as he was right now until the end.

"You ready to stretch?" She inquired with her own smile on her face figuring there was no time like the present to start.

"Already did," he answered her. He hadn't just been sitting there staring at the door doing nothing for forty-five minutes, after all.

"Alright then, let's see what we can get done today," she said as she pulled the tools of her trade in from the hallway and went about emptying them one by one onto the floor. Dean had a hard time figuring out how such a little woman could haul around such a big bag with her, especially after she pulled out one piece of equipment after another, each one heavier then the last. By the time she had emptied the sack, she'd brought out over a hundred pounds of weights and Dean was a little more than impressed. "Well, yesterday we ended with…"

"Just give me the fives," he cut her off as he extended both hands and she couldn't help but frown.

"Are you sure? Yesterday you couldn't…" she started, but he cut her off again.

"Yeah I'm sure. That was yesterday," he stated as he extended his hands out even further, their steadiness also surprising her also. She caught no glimpse of the shakiness they'd had yesterday and against her better judgment, she gave him the two five-pound weights he'd requested.

Taking one in each hand, he rested his arms against the sides of the chair he sat in with his palms pointed inwards and took in a deep breath before raising each weighted fist to nearly shoulder height and holding it for a quick count of three before dropping them back down again. Julia silently stood there and watched him repeat the process ten times in quick succession before finally dropping his arms rather limply back down onto the arm rests, only to see him suck in another deep lungful of air and do it again. Ten more times he carried the weight up and down, relaxing after the final lift for just a moment before doing it again. By the time he was done with the third set he seemed mildly amused.

"Can I have the tens?" He innocently asked her and this time she did fully protest.

"Dean, I think you may be pushing that a little too much. I know you think that it's only five pounds and I bet you're not used to having such a hard time with such a minimal amount of weight, but I think…"

"Really, I can handle it," he informed her as he gave her a determined stare and somehow she just couldn't say no to him. She took the weights he had from him and handed him the weights he wanted and watched him repeat the entire process again.

The added weight was a little more than Dean had expected and each repetitive movement became increasingly more difficult but there was no way he was stopping, not until he was done. By the time he had finished the first set of ten he had broken out in a light sweat. By the time he had finished the second set of ten, he was stifling a groan with each raise of his arms. By the time he finished the third set of ten, he had sweat dripping down his face and the last two had been an enormous struggle as he just gritted his teeth and forced his arm up on sheer will alone. He had done them though and that's all that mattered to him. Unable to even hold the weight in his hands now that his arms felt like jello, he just let them drop to the floor and breathed in deeply as he tried to prepare himself for what came next. He was far from done today and he knew it, but he wasn't quitting until he either finished or passed out.

One muscle after another got a workout in the exact same manner. From his biceps to his triceps to his shoulders, they all got the same punishment until they all pretty much felt exactly the same way in the end and Dean's throat was nearly raw from the grunting and groaning. By the time he had finished abusing his entire upper body nearly two hours after he had started, he was soaked in sweat and breathing heavily as his heart pounded hard in his chest. Even Julia was exhausted and all she had pretty much done was watch now that Dean was pretty familiar with the entire routine. He'd obviously been listening to her over the last two days, he just hadn't given a shit until now.

"You alright there?" She had to ask as she stuffed one weigh after another back into the bag, somewhat concerned at the amount of time it was taking him to breathe normally again.

"Never better," he'd told her as he sucked in one more deep breath and forced his arms to work so he could wheel himself into the bathroom, the bathroom that had a shower in it that he fully intended on using whether Mark and the rest of the hospital staff liked it or not. He couldn't stop the question that came from his mouth out of nowhere as he stared into the bathroom and it took all the self control he had to not press his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. "Hey Julia, when can I start walking again?"

"As soon as there isn't anything in your way you could trip over…if you know what I mean," she answered as she pointed and he didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out. Three days. He'd be walking in three day.

"So, where's Sam?" She finally asked now that it was nearly time for her to leave. He'd been in a great mood when she had came in but that was before she had cranked him through a meat grinder and didn't want to leave him feeling like a pile of bloody ground beef. "He coming back anytime soon?"

"Probably, but if you're worried about leaving me alone, don't. I'm just gonna head into the bathroom here and clean up. Don't sweat it, I'll be fine."

"Well, you better make it quick. I think you're lunch may be here soon. If you're sure you're ok, I guess I'll just see you tomorrow.'

"I'll be here," he chuckled and she couldn't help but give him another big smile, a smile that for some strange reason gave him a cold chill when he saw how strikingly familiar it looked.

He shook the feeling off, attributing it to the fact that he was down right exhausted and as she left, he wheeled himself to the door right behind her and quietly locked it. She may have said he could walk when he could do it without fear of tripping over his god awful temporary appendage, but that didn't mean he had to listen. With what little energy he had left in his upper body, he wheeled himself back to the foot of the bed and stared at it for a minute, debating whether or not he actually wanted to do what he'd been contemplating all morning.

Once he decided he did, he took hold of the entire contraption attached to him and untangled it from anything that may create a stumbling hazard, "Jesus Christ, you'd think they'd make this thing easier to carry around," he groused before grasping the footboard with both hands, took in a deep breath and slowly started to stand. It wasn't easy, but after a few long minutes he did it and he nearly screamed with joy at being completely vertical for the first time in weeks. It was a good feeling, until he put weight firmly on both legs instead of just his good one. It was a good thing the chair was right behind him or he would have taken what more then likely would have been a very nasty fall to the floor when his bad leg buckled unexpectedly and most of his balance was gone and as he fell back into the seat, he just shook his head in a show of slight defeat.

"Well Dean, that was stupid," he said to himself as he caught his breath and let his racing heart rate slow back to normal before heading for the door to open it. If it was still locked when Sam came back, who knows what he would do. Still utterly exhausted, he wheeled himself into the bathroom and quickly closed the door, determined to take that shower he promised himself he'd get, come hell or high water.

Leaving the door unlocked, he slid the curtain back to expose the shower stall and nearly cried when he saw it had a seat inside. He didn't think he could do it standing up, but now he knew it was his destiny to be one with the shower gods, at least for the next few minutes. Stripping naked had been easy since all he had on was a paper thin hospital gown that was now soaked in sweat and rather gross to the touch as it clung to his skin. Tossing it onto the floor beside him, he grabbed hold of the bar that was fixed to the wall inside and pulled himself in and onto the seat before turning the water on full blast, not caring what the temperature was. He sat there and just let the water flow over him for the longest time before finding the bar of soap Sam had obviously left on the shelf next to him. He lathered up every inch of his upper body as the water ran before accidentally dropping what was left of the bar onto the shower floor.

Not bothering to reach for the remnants of the bar as it swirled around the drain in a circular motion, he grabbed Sam's shampoo instead and squeezed a small amount into his palm, intent on washing what little hair he'd managed to grow back after they'd so inconsiderably shaved it all off to do something so trivial as to save his life. Rubbing the suds into his scalp, he ran his finger down the length of the long scar that he hoped would eventually be hidden underneath the growth that was slowly making a come back, the feeling of the hard tissue surrounded by the soft skin making him shudder somewhat. Rinsing what little shampoo he'd used out, he just sat there in the stream until the water started running cold, then just turned the water off entirely and sat naked in the chilly air until he started to shake.

The hot water had totally relaxed him and if he wasn't so cold, he probably would have fallen asleep right there with his head resting against the wall, but since he was naked and wet and cold, he figured he better at least make the effort to get himself back into his bed before someone found him in a rather embarrassing position. Realizing he had no towel within arms reach as he pushed back the shower curtain, he just grabbed the handle of the chair and pulled it as close to him as he could to the stall and miraculously got himself back into it. He was too tired to even bother looking for anything to put on, so he just wheeled himself back to the bed and with the last bits of strength he had, stood on his good leg and deposited himself back onto the mattress. Crawling his wet body back under the covers, he pulled the blankets up to his chin and let his eyes close, fully intending on drifting back to sleep until Sam and Bobby returned.

"Damn, what a day," he said to himself as his mind raced and his eyes closed, the thought that it was barely afternoon meaning nothing at the moment. He'd made it through an entire morning without feeling any pain or throwing up and that was good enough for him. Now, he could only hope Sam and Bobby's day had gone so well.

_End Notes: Yeah, I know it was a lot of fluff, but I needed a break from all the drama I've been spitting out lately. I hope it didn't bore you all too much._


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I honestly don't know how this happened but I wrote this chapter the day after Mother's Day and somehow forgot to post it. Oops...sorry. Here it is, hope it's ok and sorry for...well...sorry.

Chapter 23

Sam Winchester was not a happy man. It had taken them nearly two hours to get to the first address on Bobby's list, only to find out that they had just wasted the first two hours of their day when they rolled up the long, middle of nowhere driveway in Bobby's beat-up old pick-up to an almost empty lot. The small cabin that had seemingly been there two years ago, according to the county assessor's office at least, was now pretty much gone, the only remnants that a home of any kind had ever been there being the lone standing toilet still attached to its sewer line surrounded by splintered pieces of wood and debris that had been strewn about the wide, barren area. Had Dean not been so anxious for the two of them to leave this morning, Sam would have been able to find out well in advance that the cozy, three bedroom, five bathroom 'shack' had been totally leveled by a tornado over a year ago and nobody in the Waterson family had bothered to take on the task of rebuilding it just yet.

Irritated with himself for not being able to focus his thoughts on anything other than the fact that he'd just been conned into leaving his all too recently suicidal brother alone to fend for himself to do any researching that could have saved them precious time during the two hour drive to get there, he sat in the passenger seat scowling as Bobby drove on to destination number two at the quotes he'd come across in the local newspaper articles now that he'd actually taken the initiative to look. The house was a rarely used, occasional 'pit stop' on the way to other, more interesting destinations that hadn't had a soul actually inhabit it in over two years, other than the occasional maintenance workers trying their best to keep it up to the strict Waterson standards. Let's face it; they had plenty of other places to stay that were more to their liking anyway.

Bobby could feel the anxiety oozing from every pore in Sam's body that he tried so hard to hide as he watched him play nervously with his cell phone in one hand as he searched the internet for any information on the second location they had to check out with the other, the look on the younger man's scowling face telling him that he wasn't really paying as much attention to the screen as he was to the little communication device he mindlessly flipped open and closed repeatedly as he blankly trolled from one website to another.

"Call him Sam," Bobby nearly ordered as he darted out a quick hand to snatch the phone away from the fidgety fingers that were annoyingly clicking the lid shut over and over again, the aggravated tone he snapped at the younger man with breaking the oppressive silence in the cab and making Sam visibly jump. "You know you've been itching to call for the last hour now so get on with it already, before I shove this damn phone somewhere so dark you'll be crapping numbers for a week."

"But Bobby, I don't want him to think I don't trust him enough to leave him alone for more than five minutes," Sam unconvincingly argued and Bobby could tell exactly what he was thinking.

"You obviously don't if you're dying to check up on him. Have a little faith in your brother Sam. He's been through a lot, hell, you both have and he just needs to sort his own head out now that it's finally firmly attached to his neck and facing forward again," Bobby reasoned and Sam seemed to be listening, at least somewhat.

"Do you really think he'll be ok?" Sam tentatively asked, wanting nothing more than it to be true.

"Do you think I would have left him alone and let you come with me if I didn't?" Bobby reminded him of what should have been blatantly obvious. The fact that Sam was sitting next to him instead of being invisibly chained to a chair at Dean's side pretty much said it all on that matter.

"I guess not. I just don't like leaving him alone right now, not after yesterday, not after everything." He said as he considered not only how close he had been to losing his brother the day before but how many other times Dean had nearly died in the last few weeks.

"You gotta give him some space Sam. I know you just want to be there to help him get through the rest of this, but it kills him that you even gotta see him like that at all. Believe me, he knows how hard it was for you so if he wants to spare you from any more grief, you just go ahead and let him take his world back onto his own shoulders for a little while. I know it ain't his fault and it ain't yours either but you gotta stop smothering him and let him breathe a little. It'll be hard, but you gotta do it."

"You're right, I know, but…"

"Good. End of conversation then. Now pay attention to what you're looking at so we aren't wasting any more time going on another wild goose chase or two," he cut Sam off, not wanting to hear any more 'buts' about it. Winchester men were so damn stubborn and argumentative he knew the 'buts' could go on all day if he let them.

In the hour it had taken to get from point A to point B, Sam had fully investigated all five locations left on the ever shrinking list and determined that they would indeed, and very unfortunately, need to scope out each and every one in person. Warehouse after summerhouse after outhouse they searched and came up empty each and every time. With each new location scratched off the list, their frustration only seemed to increase, especially Sam's. It was amazing to Sam that one family could accumulate so much that they cared so little about while other, more deserving people had nothing more to show for their selfless lives than an old, black car that had been nothing more than another hand-me-down and a massive weapons collection that most people would never see in an entire lifetime or even have good reason to, but little else of any meaning to their name, a name that they could rarely share with anyone anyway. Climbing back into the truck after their fourth failed search and unable to really think straight anymore, Sam decided he had had enough.

It was nearing late afternoon and they only had two sites left to go, but Sam's body language told Bobby he was pretty much done for the day. The overly worried younger sibling had seemingly kept his disquiet in check for most of the day but Bobby was pretty sure that the couple of times he had snuck off with his phone in hand hadn't been to call and order a pizza, but he said nothing about it. He just let Sam have his private moments of concern because he knew that no matter how hard he tried, Sam just couldn't help but worry. Watching as the tall, lanky young man slipped his cell back into his pocket before he climbed back into the truck's cab with his shoulders hunched and his face pinched with concern, he asked the question he had been dying to hear the answer to for hours now himself, knowing full well their day was done.

"How's Dean?" He inquired as he looked directly into the distracted eyes that stared right back.

"How'd you know I called?" Sam surprisingly asked, somewhat stunned that the question had been posed in such a 'don't deny it' tone. The slight cock of his head and the subtle raise of his eyebrows as the corners of his mouth turned into an obvious frown was the facial response Sam got from Bobby as he sat staring at him and it was an answer that wordlessly told him everything. Sam could only sigh and shrug his shoulders once he knew he'd been found out.

"He's been sleeping all day. One of the nurses woke him up around two o'clock to give him something but he went right back to sleep. Damn it Bobby, I knew it was a bad idea to leave him alone. Why would he need to sleep all day unless…" Sam had obviously been holding that in all day and Bobby wasn't going to let Sam's mind get carried away.

"Nothing is wrong Sam," the older man finished the thought before shooting the idea down entirely. "He's just sleeping. Damn it Sam, not everything has to be so ominous. Your brother has been up since four a.m. I know, because it's when I got up too. I'm dog tired right now and I didn't spend five weeks in a coma then another week in and out of a drug induced stupor before having surgery on my most private, most delicate parts and nearly dying after being OD'd by some crazy doctor with an even crazier vendetta against me for no good reason while some dead woman keeps whispering sweet nothings in my ear so just give him a break, will ya? Hell, I'd be sleeping too if it were me, probably with a half empty bottle of Jack in my hand."

Bobby's irritation was painfully apparent but somehow the normally calm, cool, and collected hunter's outburst had done the trick as Sam stared at the older man's face and let a big grin spread out wide on his own before he actually started laughing out loud, which didn't help Bobby's demeanor very much now that he was borderline fed-up with the Sam's constant need-to-know/there must be something wrong obsession. "You know, it's kinda cute the way your ears turn bright red when you're angry," Sam dared to say and somehow the giggle followed by the crack shut the older man up and made him laugh a little too. Sam's laughter had been nearly uproarious when Bobby's had started and as the two of them seemed to feed off one another the tears started to flow and it was a long while before they were both laughed and cried out.

"You ready to go," Bobby finally asked as he wiped his cheeks on his sleeve, the grin on his face firmly plastered in place and perfectly content to remain there the rest of the day.

"Yeah, I think so," Sam chuckled his answer before taking a deep breath and turning somewhat serious. "The next stop on the list is only about twenty miles away; we can probably check it out before it gets dark."

"Sam, I can't speak for you, but you can stick a fork in me because I am done for the day and since I'm the one driving the only place we're going is right back where we started from." With that, he started the truck and hit the gas, letting the tires spin just a little as they took off. They may not have found Trent's hiding place, but they did at least accomplish something just as important today, and tomorrow was definitely another day.

The drive hadn't been as long as Sam thought it would be and they pulled into the hospital parking lot sometime around five. Both men were tired, dirty, hungry, and quite obviously anxious to get back upstairs to see for themselves what all their talk had been about, Bobby needing to prove he had been right and Sam just wanting any kind of proof that things were ok at all. The room inside was dark and silent as Sam slowly pushed the door open and for the briefest of seconds his heart leapt into his throat as his stomach dropped to the floor. It seemed that every time he opened that door to find the room dark he didn't like what he found when he actually turned the light on. Walking warily inside, he crossed the space from the door to the bed and gradually played with the dimmer switch to light up the room just enough to see what, if anything, was happening and he was more than a little surprised at what he actually saw. He knew he didn't like this sight, not one bit.

"Dean, wake up," he said, giving his sleeping brother's shoulder a gentle, little shake as he lay on his side shivering on the bed with his back turned to the door, one leg stretched out straight and the other bent at a right angle with the knee nearly into his chest.

"Go away Nurse Ratched, You already bled me dry and I already took your damn pills…just leave me alone now, I'm tired," Dean mumbled as he tried swatting the offensive hand away that continued to prod him, interrupting his perfectly good sleep.

"Come on Dean, wake up," Sam tried again, desperately wanting his brother to wake up but not wanting to resort to the drastic measures he thought he would need to use if Dean wouldn't comply easily.

"No…I said go away," Dean whined through slightly chattering teeth as his hands continued to mindlessly flail at nothing.

"Dean, please…" Sam said as he poked his brother harder and this time he had to cover his mouth with his other hand to stop it from involuntarily making any other sound but the speech he was trying to project.

"Sammy…that you?" Dean asked when he finally realized who it was that was trying so hard to bring him back to consciousness. "What's wrong with me Sam…why am I'm sooooo cold."

"Probably because your totally naked Dean," Sam stated rather nonchalantly as if seeing his brother in a complete state of disrobe sprawled out on a hospital bed with nothing but a thin blanket bunched up under his bent leg and covering only half of what Sam and Bobby both could have gone their entire lives without seeing was an everyday occurrence. "Wow…I gotta tell you dude, I'm really glad you had your back to the door when we came in because if you had been facing the other way…"

"Your just jealous little brother, and I do mean 'little'…and stop staring at me you flaming pervert," Dean ripped, albeit sluggishly, while he groped for his wadded up blanket to cover his exposed body when his sleeping brain finally registered what was going on around him and the recollections of the day that had past fully came back to his tired mind as he drifted closer and closer to full awareness, the low snicker he heard from both men eventually helping to bring him fully around.

"I'll bet the nurses that have been parading in and out of here all day while you played sleeping beauty got an interesting eyeful," Sam continued chuckling as his eyebrows danced on his forehead in a rather suggestive manner, his amusement totally at his brother's expense but right now not really caring. His mood was too good to let it be ruined.

"Dude, I think by now they've all gotten an eyeful. Let's face it, I didn't exactly leave much to the imagination when I landed face down on the floor and ripped myself to shreds, now did I?" Dean groused as he finally found the strength to roll over onto his back to look both overly happy men in the eyes with a rather crabby sounding grunt.

"Jeez Dean, you have such a way with words," Sam came right back, unwilling to let his brother's seemingly foul mood spoil his own good one, the good mood he'd been waiting nearly two months to have. "So, how exactly is it you ended up naked anyway?"

"Because I was too damn tired to look for clothes after Julia left and I took the longest, hottest shower I've taken in…uh…a long time, so I just didn't bother to. Man, I think that shower felt even better than sex," Dean remarked as he let the memories of the hot water coursing over his sore and tired body as it washed the sweat and grime away start to calm his growing irritation.

"You took a shower? Did your doctor say that was ok with stitches?" Sam immediately questioned in that tone that always drove Dean to the brink of near madness and the second he had said it, Sam knew things were starting to get too tense.

"I didn't know I needed his permission; besides, the sponge baths are getting a little old and let's face it, they don't exactly get you very clean either. Excuse me if I wanted to feel fresh from the shower fresh for a change," he answered with a little attitude tinged in his voice, absolutely sick and tired of his little brother treating him like he was made of glass that was going to shatter any second if it wasn't held just right.

Sam said nothing in return and only shook his head, not wanting to have this argument; or any argument with his brother at all. He was going to take Bobby's advice and give Dean that break he so desperately seemed to need for a change, even if it meant biting off his own tongue to do it. Re-plastering his previous smile back onto his face, he just silently walked into the corner of the room, rummaged through the bag on the floor and smiled even wider as he threw what he'd found inside at his cranky older brother. Dean's look of sheer annoyance quickly melted away when he realized what Sam had tossed his way and he returned the wide grin in Sam's direction, feeling like he'd won yet another victory today.

"Clothes…real clothes, aww Sammy. Wait a second…these boxers are mine, aren't they? I'm not wearing your mangy old trou…remember, I've done your laundry and it ain't pretty."

"Trust me, they're yours man," Sam tried to laugh before digging right back. "You think you can figure out how to get them on around all that hardware you got going on there? You don't need any help putting them on, do you?"

"Not from you. Now, maybe if you go ask that little blonde nurse that's on duty at six…"

"Shut up and get dressed Dean." The younger brother just shook his head and plopped himself into a chair, pretty much exhausted himself.

"Well, you ladies can continue your unarmed battle of wits all night if you want, but I am going to get a pizza. Sausage and mushrooms, unless you got a better idea," Bobby finally spoke up as he eyed Dean's untouched lunch sitting in the corner.

"No pepperoni? That's sacrilegious man," Dean voiced his opinion, the mere sound of pizza making his mouth start to water.

"Ok, sausage, pepperoni and mushrooms then," Bobby snorted as he made for the door.

"Dean, do you think…" Sam started until the hard glare Bobby shot at him told him to just let this one go too. He knew full well where Sam was going with that comment and it was ending before it started. "…we could not get pepperoni? It gives me heartburn."

"If your brother wants pepperoni, I'll just get it on half Sam," the older man quickly covered for the younger brother, and then snuck quickly out the door before any more could be said on the subject.

"So, any luck in finding Dr. Douchebag's House of Horrors?" Dean inquired as he drew on the boxers rather carefully and T-shirt rather slowly and painfully that Sam had so kindly given him, the joy at being able to wear something other than a cheap, thin hospital gown more than he could have ever imagined. As sore as his body had become since he'd fallen asleep, the feel of real cotton against his skin was like a little bit of heaven. _'A real shower and real clothes...today must be my lucky day.'_

"Nope, no luck whatsoever. I'm telling you Dean, this guy must be like Houdini. There are still two places we didn't get to today but somehow I'm expecting more of the same. There's gotta be something we missed; he has to be taking them all somewhere, but where?" Sam thoughtfully dwelled on the subject, grateful to have something other than Dean to focus on at the moment.

"Why don't you just go take a shower and worry about it in the morning. There's nothing else you can do tonight anyway."

"Shower, huh. Better than sex, huh? I'm liking the sound of that," Sam grinned and made for the bathroom in a near run as Dean's words echoed behind him before being silenced by the slamming door.

"Aww, dude…I didn't mean it like that."

By the time Sam had showered, dressed and settled in for the evening Bobby had returned with a piping hot pizza dripping with grease and a six pack, both of which he knew Dean should not be having but damn it if he wasn't giving the kid something to make up for the shit day behind him and the shit days ahead. They ate and talked about anything other than Trent Waterson, each man needing a break from the present, even if it was only for a little while. Even though he had pretty much slept all day, Dean was the first one asleep with Sam and Bobby not too far behind.

Dean's eyes cracked open well before dawn cracked itself and for the second day in a row he dragged himself from his bed, ready to take whatever was thrown at him again. He didn't know what it was that the nurses kept slipping him every few hours and he really didn't care. He hadn't felt an ounce of pain or even remotely like vomiting in over a full day now, pizza, beer and all and he was beginning to think he could just pack up and leave, except for the minor detail of not being able to walk yet. Well, he had plans on that already.

Making no effort to be quiet once the sun rose, he finally succeeded in waking his brother and then waking Bobby by somehow charming his way down the hall to the nearest coffee machine with the help of that pretty blonde nurse that came on duty at six and returned with numerous cups of the hot, black necessity of the morning. Convincing Sam to go with Bobby today had been a lot easier then it had been the day before and within an hour of the men rising from their respective sleeping places they were out the door, leaving Dean alone again. He liked being alone, it gave him time to think, gave him time to plan, gave him time to do.

He ate the crap breakfast they had brought him with the last couple remaining pieces of cold pizza left over from the night before then just sat there waiting for Julia to arrive; which she did, right on time as always. Another day, another muscle aching, sweat inducing workout that left him utterly drained but feeling remarkably good inside. Julia had relegated herself to nothing more than a spectator as she let Dean do what he knew he needed to do, her services not really being required until it was time to get the man out of the chair and up on his feet. That, she knew, was when the real fun would begin.

Once he was done torturing himself and Julia was gone though, he decided to have another go at what had gone so miserably unsuccessful the day before now that he had a new plan. Locking the door to the room behind the woman as she left, Dean wheeled himself back to the bed and started repeating the process he'd tried the day before, this time hoping for a little more success. Making sure things were all in their proper places, he once again grasped the footboard of his bed and rose to a full stand, all of his weight being held up by his one good leg and the iron grip he had on the bed in front of him. Slowly and carefully he put the other foot flat on the floor and for the first time in nearly two months he was standing fully upright. Very tentatively letting the other leg start to take some of the burden, he winced when he felt the zing in his hip shoot down into his foot and he knew exactly what his limits were. Exhausted but energized, he walked …actually walked from the foot of the bed to the side, using the metal rail for support before turning around and going back, then walked up the other side of the bed and back, finally delicately dropping himself into the chair now that he felt like he had just run a marathon. _'Three days my ass,' _he thought to himself as he sat, trying to catch his breath enough to head for the shower again.

By the time Sam and Bobby got back, Dean was showered, dressed in at least a new shirt and clean boxers, and fast asleep under his covers in his bed with the most interesting smile on his face Sam had probably ever seen. Sam let that little smile Dean sported in his sleep ease the frustration of another wasted day. They had found nothing at the last two Waterson land masses and honestly didn't know what else to do. Bobby ran for food again while Sam woke his brother and filled him in on their day and once all three were stuffed and exhausted, they were all pretty much asleep.

Dean had a habit of waking up before the birds started chirping and the new day that hadn't dawned yet was no exception. It felt like déjà vu all over as he climbed out of bed, this time with both feet on the floor like the normal person he really wanted to be. He could tell by the way they both breathed that both Sam and Bobby were still soundly asleep and since he was already standing up relatively straight he decided to head to the bathroom. Instead of sitting in the chair that seemed to always be calling his name, he grasped both handles on the back firmly and cautiously took one step after another in the direction of the bathroom, only letting out a breath when he was safely inside with the door closed behind him. He must have made more noise than he had thought because the instant he sat down, he heard footsteps just outside the door, then an agonizingly long pause before he heard the inevitable knock that he could feel was coming.

"Dean? You ok?" It was his ever-worrying little brother rapping at the door and he didn't really know right now if it warmed him or irritated him. Maybe it was both.

"I'm fine Sam," he answered with his typical Dean response.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? I am in the bathroom dude. Unless I missed something, I don't have a colostomy bag too," Dean snapped in a more annoyed tone then he had meant to use as he rolled his eyes. Sam was like a bloodhound, never giving up until he sniffed everything out.

"Oh…right…sorry," he said and Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the feet shuffling away.

Wishing he had a newspaper, or a magazine, or anything to pass the time, one very important thought occurred to Dean as he sat. Since it had been so early in the morning when he had grilled Mark on how much longer it would be, going by his math, this was day three. Today, if he had his way, he'd be walking free.

_End Notes: Well...let's hear it. Tell me what you thought. Sometimes I wonder if I drag days out too long, but that's just me. I also ramble too much sometimes, like right now...so I'll just shut up now and hit 'add story'_


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's Notes: Throwing this up before I head out the door to a barbeque! Hope you all enjoy. Seems a little bit rambly to me, but what else is new, right? _

Chapter 24

Dean had half expected to see Sam's face immediately in front of his as he opened the bathroom door and wheeled himself out into the dark room some thirty minutes later, but was relieved to see, or more so hear, that his little brother had actually shuffled his way back across the room, deposited himself back onto his bed, and gone right back to sleep. For once, Sam had actually listened to him when he said he was fine. '_That's a first'._

Bobby, on the other hand, was a different story. He had somehow silently positioned himself just outside the bathroom door to be out of sight but not out of the way and Dean never saw him as he brushed past him on his way back into the room. Dean didn't even know the veteran hunter was standing anywhere near him until he grabbed the handles of the chair and halted the eldest Winchester's forward progress dead. The abrupt stop made him jump slightly as Bobby's hushed voice fell on his ears and he finally realized the man was standing there right next to him.

"Losing your touch there, kid?" He whispered as softly as his rough voice could relay, not wanting to wake Sam again; who was blissfully unaware of what his brother had been doing. "You know kid, I could have just slit your throat and you would 'a never known what hit you."

"Nah, I knew you were there the whole time," Dean lied. He couldn't let Bobby know he'd been surprised because that just didn't happen to Dean Winchester. Nothing ever got the jump on him because Dean Winchester was always aware of what was going on around him, all the time.

"Yeah, right," Bobby replied, almost as if he could read Dean's mind.

"Sorry, I'd of gotten out of there sooner if I'd of known there was a line forming outside the door," Dean tried to change the subject, which played right into Bobby's hand.

'_For someone so smart Dean, you sure can be pretty dumb,' _he thought as he spoke. "I am a pretty patient man you know, but you could have been pacing the floor out here just as easily as you were in there and not holding up the damn line," Bobby continued to whisper, the lack of volume he used doing nothing to dampen the accusatory tone of voice he projected and Dean was actually starting to think that Bobby may be worse than Sam. "You supposed to be up on your feet yet, or do you just love this place so much you wanna mess yourself up again so you just don't have to leave it?"

The question stunned Dean for a second as he tried to figure out how Bobby knew what he had really been doing in the bathroom all that time. He was sure he hadn't made a sound other than an occasional grunt that could have been easily waved off as something else since he was in the bathroom as he forced himself to stand and walk the length of the room back and forth numerous times before finally feeling the ache in his leg and deciding to just sit down and come out. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, but something in the way Bobby asked the question made him feel guilty anyway. "Well, was kinda hoping to take that cute little blonde candy striper wandering the halls around here all the time to the prom, so I had to practice my dance moves. She keeps giving me that eye, ya know? I think she has a thing for me."

"Yeah, 'cuz jailbait wants an old man with a fractured hip hanging on her arm all night, right?" Bobby said in a little louder tone now, his annoyance starting to show and he was going to let Dean know it. "You got no business being on your feet yet boy, and you know it."

"Hey, who you calling an old man...old man?" Dean semi-laughed, and not entirely at his own humor. He really didn't see what the big deal was. Bobby's stern look never wavered and Dean knew the man meant business. "Come on Bobby, the doc didn't say I couldn't, so I just decided to test my limits," he tried defending himself, not really knowing why he needed defending in the first place.

"And he didn't say you could either. Your limits are in that bed or that chair until you hear otherwise. There's too much shit goin' on for us to worry about you havin' another setback and all it takes is for you fall down and hurt yourself and you're right back to square one. Sam doesn't have a whole lot left in his tanks when it comes to dealing with your emergencies and frankly, neither do I, so until you get the word, you stay put. We clear?" He growled in a hushed tone and Dean acknowledged every word. Acknowledged, yes…listened, no.

"Yeah, we're clear," Dean mumbled as he dropped his head to stare at the floor, feeling like the chastised child Bobby had meant him to be. '_Yep, Bobby is worse than Sam'. _

The early morning hours seemed to crawl by slower than a snail's pace and Dean almost felt like he had lived an entire day by the time the sun finally rose in the sky. He had let his baby brother continue his seemingly deep slumber uninterrupted until Sam decided to finally drag himself out of bed sometime around eight, either the expletives he expressed or the sounds of a tray of some kind of hospital breakfast food being deposited in front him that he was really starting to find inedible causing Sam to stir. Forcing down the tasteless mess displayed before him as quickly as he possibly could, he anxiously sat waiting for Sam to finish showering as Bobby silently watched the morning news and tried to figure out how to get rid of both men for the remainder of the morning, if not the entire day. He had a few ideas, but he wasn't really sure if they would work. He had to try though because after Bobby's warning earlier this morning, he had no intentions of letting him or Sam hang around when Mark showed up today.

"So, what now? What's the plan?" Dean asked when Sam breezed past him as he made his way out of the steam-filled bathroom; toweling his hair that was still a wet, tangled mess as droplets of water splashed on his bare chest."I don't know man. We've pretty much run out of places to look, so unless you have anything new you'd like share, we're about all 'planned' out. Are you sure Trish never said anything to you that would even remotely indicate where her brother could be hiding?" Sam asked as he donned a shirt and ran a comb through the tousled mop on his head before throwing on a jacket and shoes. Sam looked like he intended on going somewhere, and Dean was now curious as to where. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn't be as hard as he thought.

"Nothing I can recall Sammy, but hey I could always try punching myself in the head a few times and hope she shows up so I can ask her," Dean snidely answered, hoping to maybe annoy his brother away for the day. He should have known better though, because the instant he'd made the unnecessarily obnoxious remark he knew he was going to incur Bobby's wrath again. The man had been too quiet in the corner ignoring everything else all morning to let that one slide. He was quick and before Dean could even blink, Bobby was standing right next to him.

"Here, let me help you get started," he barked, whacking Dean not so gently on the back of his head with an open hand, which surprised both brothers equally.

"Ow! Excuse me…recent head trauma, remember? What the hell was that for?" He complained in a voice an octave or two higher than usual as he rubbed a hand over his short, stubbly hair where the irritated man had just cracked him.

"Recent head trauma my ass. You'd have to have a brain up there in your head for it to be traumatized," he spoke in a rather angered tone, somehow suspicious that Dean was up to something when he noticed him stealing glances at the clock in the corner every couple minutes. "Last time I checked, your brother was just tryin' to help you Dean. Why don't you quit bein' an ass and cut him some slack?"

"Ok…ok, I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. You didn't have to smack me so hard upside the head I'm seeing stars, did you?" Dean continued to whine in an overly childish tone as he continued to massage his own scalp a little over-dramatically and Sam suddenly started laughing at the way his brother's voice sounded, which garnered Sam a raised finger from Dean. None of which seemed to amuse Bobby much.

"I think we all are Dean, but that don't give you special license to bitch," he informed the older of the two siblings as the younger one continued to chuckle. Nobody could put Dean in his place like Bobby could.

"Yeah, jerk," Sam smirked out as he squinted up his eyes and stuck out his tongue like a five year old child that was justified by a scolding parent in a sibling argument.

"Alright. I said I was sorry already, didn't I?" Dean had managed to spit out his conceding of defeat in an almost normal voice and decided the subject needed to be changed to something he was a little more interested in, like when Sam and Bobby would be leaving. "So, all dressed up and nowhere to go, little brother?"

"Who said I was going anywhere?" Sam asked, deciding it was his turn to be an ass.

"Uh, shoes…coat…it isn't exactly chilly in here Sammy, and you even combed your hair. Looks to me like you're headed out the door soon," Dean answered with a little too much enthusiasm as his eyes drifted to the clock yet again. 8:55 a.m.

"Why are you so damn anxious to get rid of us Dean?" Bobby questioned, his ever-present suspicions growing.

"Just looking forward to another session of hell on earth when Julia gets here," he groused, trying to sound totally disinterested. "I love being twisted seven ways to Sunday, then passing out for the rest of the afternoon. Can't think of a better way to spend the day. Its what I live for."

"Yeah, right," Bobby grumbled as he shot Dean a skeptical look but went quiet when he could clearly see Sam wanted to speak now that his internal laughing fit had finally subsided.

"Well, I thought we'd go get breakfast, then check out Trent's house one more time. Maybe there's something we missed. There has got to be something somewhere to lead us in the right direction. Nobody is that good at staying hidden," Sam finally answered Dean's original question as he formulated their plans for the day in his head. He didn't really think they would find anything, but at least it gave him something to focus on other than nothing.

"Yeah, tell that to the Zodiac killer," Dean huffed.

"Dean, nobody could find him because nobody knew who the Zodiac was. I don't think that applies to this situation," Sam corrected his brother as he made his way towards the door and tossing Bobby a look indicating he wanted to get another day started. "Ready when you are Bobby."

Shooting Dean a warning glare before marching his way in Sam's direction, he pointed a sharp finger at the young man sitting in the chair, scowled, and issued his cautionary statement one more time. "Stay put boy, I mean it."

"Yes sir," Dean half-heartedly mumbled as the two walked out the door and he was finally happy to be alone. Mark always showed up right before Julia did, which meant he had all of an hour to figure out how he was going to talk Mark into what he was planning on talking him into and decided that if talking him into it wasn't going to work, he would just demand it.

Sitting in his chair as he absent-mindedly stared at the wall and waited, he was startled slightly when he heard light footsteps approaching the door at only 9:25. He had somehow become quite aware of the sounds most of the staff members' feet made as they walked and that set of feet he didn't recognize, the foreign echo putting his defense mechanisms on high alert. He relaxed only slightly when he saw who the footsteps belonged to but firmly held onto his guard as he waited for her to speak.

"Good morning…Dean, right?" The pretty, young nurse asked as she entered the room with a bright, wide smile spread across her face. '_Damn, she's a cute one'._ He thought as he looked into her big, blue eyes staring at him.

"I'm the one in the wheelchair, guess that makes me Dean," he answered, trying to throw a little charm into the room. _'So much for keeping my guard up.' _"You must be new because I think I've met all the nurses on this floor, but I know I haven't met you yet."

"First day here, thanks," she giggled slightly at his remark, but for the most part tried to ignore it. She had a job to do and she was going to do it and do it quickly. "I need you to get back onto the bed for a little while. Can you do that on your own or do you need some assistance?"

"Now what would you want to get me into bed for?" He questioned, giving her a suggestive wink and a grin.

"Because there's an order in your chart to remove your catheter today," she answered and Dean grinned again when he saw her blushing slightly, until it registered what he had just heard.

As much as he was enjoying the amusement of flirting with the quite obviously shy little nurse standing in front of him, he couldn't help but be totally dumbfounded by what she had just said. He thought about pinching himself and asking her to repeat what she had just told him to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep and was dreaming the entire scene. He was almost looking forward to the argument that he had prepared himself for and was sure he was going to have with the doctor that he actually did like but wasn't letting on that he did and somehow felt disappointed that it just wasn't going to happen the way he envisioned it. He couldn't even think of anything witty to say as he just sat there staring at her like she had suddenly grown an extra head.

"So, what do you say? Can you get up there, or do you need help?" She asked again, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"No, I'll do it myself," he finally answered as he wheeled himself the short distance to the bed and climbed almost effortlessly back onto it.

Dropping on his back and fixing his stare on the ceiling, he just laid there and patiently waited. Seeing her approach from the corner of his eye, he just squeezed their lids over them, somehow no longer wanting to look at her pretty, rosy face. He heard her snap on a pair of gloves before he felt her uncomfortably cold hands against his waist and he just held his breath and focused on the burning sensation that flooded through him like lava from an erupting volcano until she was thankfully done. Pulling up the blanket that had been bunched at the foot of the bed to cover him, she rested a hand on his shoulder and finally spoke.

"All done, you can breathe now," she reassuringly said and he did finally let out the breath he had been holding in. She couldn't help but notice the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead or the lack of color in his face that had drained out entirely, giving her cause for concern. "Hey, are you ok? That wasn't supposed to be uncomfortable in any way."

"No…I'm good, thanks," he told her, lying through his gritted teeth. Not as painful as what had put him in this position in the first place, but close enough. He forced himself to breath evenly, knowing she wasn't going to leave until he did and wanting more than anything to be left alone for now to recompose himself.

"Call if you need anything, ok?" She finally asked when she was satisfied he wasn't about to go into cardiac arrest and turned to make a hasty escape from the room when he just shook his head to acknowledge he had heard her. '_Great way to start a first day', _she thought as she walked out into the hallway, mindlessly carrying everything with her.

Her lack of attention at not only the direction she had taken but also her surroundings as she tried shaking the flustered thoughts from her head slammed her hard into the man that was making his way into the room she had just vacated and within just a few feet of exiting through the door, her retreat was stopped abruptly by strong hands that prevented her from falling on her backside and throwing everything she carried in various different directions. He noticed immediately what she had been leaving the room with and instantly started questioning her.

"Did you just come from that room?" Mark calmly started when he noticed how nervous the young girl had become, pointing at Dean's door and trying to smile warmly.

"Yes sir," she respectfully answered, eyes trained on the floor.

"Mind if I ask what you were doing?" He questioned next, still trying to keep some semblance of cool in his tone.

"The chart said to take this out today," she quietly spoke as she showed him what she meant instead of telling him, somehow knowing she was probably in some sort of trouble. "So I took it out."

"Can I see that chart please?" He tried to keep his calm, knowing he hadn't made any such note but suspecting who had. She handed him what he asked for and as he flipped it open to read, all he could do was shake his head and roll his eyes when he recognized the handwriting inside, mentally berating himself for not noticing it before, considering it had been there for a week now.

"Trent. Fucking Trent."

Trent was pleased with himself. Very pleased with himself. Preparations had taken much longer than he had initially anticipated, but after a productive last couple of days, he felt everything was finally in place. Standing back and scanning the small area that had been sectioned off and hidden very well a long time ago in the large, musty basement that served as the perfect hideout for him, he smiled and felt he was finally ready to make his fantasy a reality. Besides himself, there were only two other people that knew this place even existed; one of which was dead and the other wasn't telling, not matter how many times he may be asked. He could carry out his plans totally undisturbed by the rest of the world, confident that nobody would ever find them even though they would practically be right under everyone's noses.

He had worked feverishly hard over the last couple days to make everything perfect; his need for stealth making certain tasks difficult to accomplish, but accomplish them he had. The easiest had been the decent sized mahogany bed nestled proudly in the corner that he had brought down from the dusty attic piece by piece, the bed that had been his great-great grandfather's, then his great-grandfather's and finally his grandfather's nighttime resting place as a child but had eventually been relegated to the abandoned attic of the equally abandoned house nearly twenty years ago. He had carefully cleaned and polished each piece of wood before reassembling them for the first time in years and had it not been for the worn out, old mattress with the equally old sheets and blanket atop that he had had to place in the frame, the entire display would have looked brand new and in mint condition. Mint condition except for the large holes he had drilled through the bedposts to slide in the bolts that fastened the chains and shackles to the wood frame at the head and footboards. That had taken him nearly two days and had exhausted him by the time he had finished, but he was proud of his work and it motivated him to continue.

Physically exhausted but mentally invigorated, he had waited until well after nightfall to attempt the dangerous task that, if caught, would squash all of his careful planning and preparing. Climbing into his 'borrowed' vehicle, he drove the short distance between his hidden sanctuary and his destination in Rockford slowly and cautiously so as not to draw unwanted attention to himself, completing the trip unnoticed in a little over forty minutes. Pulling up to the back doors of the old, deserted building under the heavy cover of darkness, he felt a slight chill course up his spine at its sight. He knew the stories that came out of the now defunct Roosevelt Asylum and he also knew that it held exactly what he needed to make his dreams become real.

Killing the engine and headlights, the black car sat nearly invisible in the unlit space next to the building and Trent quickly left the vehicle behind to quietly sneak inside with a flashlight firmly gripped in his sweaty hand. Breaking in had been relatively simple, considering the door he had chosen to gain access to the old nut house had been left slightly ajar, probably in someone's rather hasty escape so as not to be discovered trespassing inside. He had never actually been in the building, but knew all the interesting activities had taken place in the south wing, so in that direction he promptly headed, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.

Much to his surprise, he found exactly what he had been looking for quite easily and gathered up each and every necessary piece of equipment he could carry in one trip, taking only the items that looked to be in still working order. Working order was the key. He didn't want to come back if he didn't need to. That would only delay things, and he was too anxious to tolerate any more delays. That and the fact that the odd sounds and cold breezes in the place gave even him the creeps. Making his way back to the car as quickly as he had made his way inside, he securely placed his newfound treasures into the trunk and made his escape, satisfied he had gone totally undetected.

His sheer excitement at hitting pay dirt in Rockford had helped cut the time of the return trip down to just under thirty minutes, the adrenaline rush his thoughts gave him causing him to step on the gas a little harder then he really should have considering he was in a car that wasn't his and he didn't have permission from the owner to be driving. It really didn't matter at this point though. His father practically owned this town and a little grand theft auto would only garner him a slight slap on the wrists, if any punishment at all. He did breathe a small sigh of relief once he was safely back inside his shelter, knowing the only thing that could ruin his night was about to be tested.

Carefully cleaning each and every inch of his stolen property until it looked nearly new, he gingerly plugged the black electrical cord that ran to the wooden box resting on the small table he had positioned next to the bed and squeezed his eyes shut tight in preparation for just about anything. He half expected to blow every fuse in the house at the least, but when nothing happened as the prongs slid effortlessly into the slots of the socket in the wall, he silently cheered for his small victory. Turning from the wall to the awaiting device on the table, he opened the lid carefully so as not to break it and held his breath as he flipped the switch to bring it to life. The excitement he felt in the pit of his stomach only increased to encompass his entire body when he heard the machine whine as it was powered up and Trent was absolutely amazed that the thing actually worked after all those years of sitting unused and unwanted.

The machine may have power, but he still needed to know what it was ultimately capable of. Plugging in the last piece of the puzzle into is allotted slot, he turned the small, black dial on the control panel of the unit to its lowest setting possible and rested his pinky finger against the cushioned metal paddle. Giving the equally small red button a quick press, he jumped when he felt the shock shoot up his finger as it numbed half his hand. Letting a huge smile spread wide across his already grinning face, he cut the power to the miraculously functional archaic piece of electro-shock equipment that had been invented to help those that couldn't mentally help themselves and let his mind wander to envision just what he intended to do with it.

Yes, everything was finally in place now, everything but his soon to be Trish. At nearly four o'clock in the morning, he climbed on top of the lumpy bed he had so painstakingly made, closed his eyes and drifted off into a blissful sleep with a very satisfied look spread across his face. He would have the last remaining piece of his everything by this time tomorrow, and his fun would begin. His and if the hospital staff was as stupid as he thought them be, Dean's too.

_End Notes: To everyone celebrating the long holiday weekend, enjoy! I know this is kind of dragging on, but I have to take it where my mind takes me. Thanks for reading and if the mood strikes to leave a comment, feel free!!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Notes:Ok guys, at the request of Vanessa and JLE, here it is. The first of the last few to come. Hope it meets with your approval and sorry for the wait. it's been sitting on my computer half done for a few days now but I just couldn't get my brain fully in drive to finish it. (And for that I am very very sorry)_

Chapter 25

Mark walked casually into the room, not letting his face wear the look of concern his thoughts actually made him feel. He'd planned on having the usual and customary tests run on Dean first before doing what Trent had so kindly left orders to do today and now he knew there was a snowball's chance in hell that that was going to happen. He'd been around both brothers long enough to know that Dean was not the most ideal patient. Sam had pretty much flat out told him that from the get-go but he had seen it on more than one occasion with his own two eyes as well. Now that Dean finally had what he had been begging for over the last three days, he knew the man would let his own arm fall off before saying he needed a bandaid, and that worried him.

"Morning Dean," he greeted as he strolled up to the bedside where Dean still laid sprawled out under the light blanket that had been mindlessly thrown over him with one arm resting on his chest and the other bent at the elbow with the hand attached to the end buried under his head.

"What's up doc?" He replied, trying to find something funny to at least internally amuse himself with. His breathing had finally returned to a normal rate but his face hadn't quite regained all of the healthy color it had reacquired over the last couple days and Mark could see it.

"Just checking in on my favorite patient. How are you feeling today?"

"Great, just great," he replied as he rolled his eyes, keeping his actual thoughts to himself. _'Fine now that the fire that evil nurse with the face of an angel lit when she did what she did has finally burnt itself out'_

"Good, that's good. So, where's Sam? Haven't seen him around lately."

"He's out house hunting," Dean smirked, knowing full well it wouldn't be taken the way it was meant.

"Oh, are you planning on leaving us soon?" The doctor questioned and Dean nearly laughed out loud when he realized he had been right.

"Well, doesn't look like there's too much left keeping me here anymore, does there?" Dean answered the question with a question, knowing that if it was up to him, he would march right up to the counter and check himself out right now. If he could walk that far at one time, that is.

"Well, I wouldn't say that just yet, but maybe in another week or so we'll see how well you're standing on your own two feet, then maybe we'll start talking about maybe paroling you into Sam's custody."

"Gee, thanks warden, a fate worse than death. I'll be counting the days. You know, you threw in an awful lot of maybes there, don't you?"

"I don't like making promises I can't keep and I can't promise that you're totally out of the woods just yet."

"What? Why the hell not? I feel fine, no, I feel great," he informed Mark rather proudly of the fact that he had indeed felt pretty great the last couple days.

"I am very happy to hear that, I just wanted to have you thoroughly examined before pulling your plug there, that's all."

"Yeah, well, let's just not go there, ok?"

"If you insist. Since you're feeling so great this morning, I'm thinking we may take a trial run at forgoing you're meds today. Sounds like you may not need them anymore and I, for one, don't believe in unnecessarily medicating someone that doesn't need medicating."

"Thank god for that," Dean mumbled. _'Too bad some other doctors around here don't feel the same way," _he thought somewhat bitterly. "Fine by me. That's just one step closer to getting the hell out of here in my book."

"That may be true, but you have got to promise that if you need something, you'll ask for it. You may feel great now but you may be singing a different tune when Julia's done with you today," he mentioned just for the sake of mentioning it. He knew his patient would never ask for them and the painkillers that would be ready and waiting for him should he just say the word would be sitting there patiently right beside to the bandaid that would never be asked for either.

"I can handle whatever she can throw at me doc, no sweat," Dean nearly laughed out loud at that, but somehow at Mark's comment he suspected today was going to be different. It didn't matter to him 

though; he would take whatever she could dish out gladly if it meant getting back to the hunt. He really wanted to be the one to put a bullet in Trent's head and the sooner he was walking, the sooner he would be rewarded with that little pleasure.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be here soon so on that note, I'll let her have at it. Remember though, if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask," he felt the need to emphasize the instructions again, knowing it would be totally ignored anyway.

Walking out of the room shaking his head, he marched up to the counter and directly into the face of the young nurse he had nearly collided with when he had arrived and without saying a word, made a note of sorts in the chart now that the potential damage had been done. Jotting down an order or two of his own, he handed directly to her and smiled slyly as she opened it and read, her look of confusion prompting him to answer her silent question.

"Yes, you're reading that right. Nothing…and I mean nothing happens in that room without verbal ok from me first. I don't care who gives the order, it gets ok'd by me before it gets carried out, understand?" He paused and waited for her to shake her head in the affirmative before continuing. "Yes, you are reading the rest of that correctly also. I want urine samples collected every eight hours and tested for everything. The first sign of even the slightest infection, you page me, understand?"

She nodded in the affirmative again as he shoved his pen back into his pocket, the forced smile he had plastered across his face turning into a genuine one as he watched Julia approach from the elevators, dragging her heavy sack behind her like she always did. She returned the wide grin as she came towards him and Mark walked quickly in her direction to meet her. He most definitely had things to tell her that he didn't want others to hear.

"I need to talk to you before you start in on Dean today," he spoke in a rather excited tone and she was surprised at the unusual greeting.

"Well, good morning to you to sweetheart," she sarcastically commented, the forced pout on her face making him smile as his eyes rolled. "Ok, what's up?"

"Looks like you may get to have a little fun today since there's no reason for him not to be up on his feet. It seems our good friend Trent left a standing order to just go ahead and pull the plug on him today without having anyone even bother to check if everything was healing properly so…"

"Oh Mark, you've got to be kidding. Why don't you just run the tests now?"

"Because you know as well as I do that as long as he's coherent, he'll refuse. So, on to plan B instead."

"Which is?" She asked, her curiosity more than mildly peaked.

"Which is you doing what you do best," he winked at her with one, lone eyebrow cocked and she knew exactly what he meant. "Just go easy on him; he didn't look so good when I checked on him a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, fat chance of that. Go easy isn't in my vocabulary and you know it."

"One small request, if you please. Water. Load him up with lots and lots of water. I'm not waiting around watching the clock for any indication there's a problem. I pretty much want to know now before..."  
"I catch you're drift. Plenty of water it is."

"I knew I could count on you. Oh, and just so you know, he says he can handle ANYTHING you can throw at him with no problem."

"Anything huh? Sounds like a challenge to me and I never lose a good challenge," she smiled as she returned his wink, stuffed her bag behind the nurse's counter and headed off in the opposite direction in search of a more useful item needed today. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for and with a crutch in each hand; she silently walked past Mark, mouthed him a kiss and strolled into Dean's room wearing her most evil grin.

"Good morning Dean," she announced her arrival as she strolled into the room, amazingly at ten o'clock on the dot like she always did. Sometimes Dean wondered if she hovered outside the door until the clock struck before coming in, she was that punctual.

In the short time since Mark's departure, he had pulled himself from the bed and dropped himself back into the chair, which essentially kept the promise he had made to Bobby to behave himself today and started rummaging through Sam's bag for a blessed pair of sweatpants. Dragging the leg wear onto his usually bare lower half, he tossed the scratchy blanket that he always covered his slightly withered legs with to hide them from the world onto the floor in a corner and hoped he would never have a reason to touch it ever again. He hadn't let Sam take it from him after bleeding on it days before, the stains being his reminder of what he had almost done to himself in his drug-induced haze helping to keep him focused on the here and now. He turned and smiled at her when she entered the room but let his face fall just a 

little when he noticed the devious little upturn in the corners of her mouth as she grinned at him and that she wasn't dragging that heavy bag behind her today. No, today she was carrying something else, something that he would have been ecstatic to be given had it not been for that smile. Somehow, that smile scared him. Really scared him. _'Shit, let this be another side effect of those damn drugs,' _he couldn't help but to think when he honestly thought he'd rather be staring into the eyes of a wendigo about ready to have him as a midnight snack then what he was staring at and Julia just wanted to laugh at the look on his face. She had seen that look before, but never to that extreme.

"Good morning…I think," he finally said to her as she stood there smiling that rather wicked smile and Dean was thoroughly convinced she was witch, or a demon, or something supernatural he needed to dispatch quickly with the way her look made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Where's your usual stuff?"

"Oh, we won't be needing any of that today," she informed him as she shoved the crutches nearly into his face and raised her eyebrows, indicating he should take them without any questions. "You and I are going for a walk today."

"We are? Where?" He tentatively asked as he grasped a pole in each hand but made no attempt to rise.

"One floor up to the rehab center. Now that you're mobile, there's no good reason why we need to hang around in here, is there? There are so many fun things we can do up there instead."

"I don't know, I kinda like it in here. It's cozy, don't you think?"

"No, I don't, so let's go. You do remember how this works, right? One foot in front of the other in rapid succession to move forward at a steady pace until you arrive at a predetermined destination.'

"Thanks for the tutorial. I think I got it though, it hasn't been that long," _Yeah, like a couple hours ago long._

"Well, what are you waiting for then? Let's get moving," she cheerily stated, her words oozing with enthusiasm and Dean honestly thought she was a masochist. "Oh, I almost forgot. You're going to need these."

Frowning slightly as she tossed the hospital issue, drab blue slippers into his lap, he bit his lower lip as he bent over to slip them onto his bare feet while Julia stood cross-armed in front of him and tapped her foot lightly on the floor as she hummed some unknown tune to herself, indicating to Dean she clearly had the patience of a saint. Sucking in as big a lungful of air as he could, he grasped both crutches by the hand grips, placed both feet firmly on the floor, and rose to his feet with most, if not all of his weight solely on his good leg. She noticed it but said nothing because it was exactly what she had expected to happen. No problem, she would fix that soon enough.

"Ready?"

"Lead the way," he answered as he shook his head and as she took a position in front of him and walked slowly, he seemed to have little trouble following.

"You're pretty adept at using those already. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well I've had plenty of practice in the past," he huffed.

The trip down the hall had been slow but steady, the ride in the elevator nearly silent, save for that unusual humming Julia insisted on doing as she smiled in Dean's direction; a smile that gave him yet another chill as he stood next to her supporting most of his weight with his armpits now that he was already spent from just walking down the hall. Standing there in the corner of the elevator that seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, he just stood there staring at Julia as he bit his chewed on his lower lip and wondered if his big mouth had bit off a little more than it could chew. _'Too late now…in for a penny…' _

After another nearly exhausting trip down another relatively short hall, she stopped at a set of large, double doors and turned to Dean, still sporting what he considered to be an evil grin, and grabbed the handles, stopping only long enough to state the obvious before opening the doors. "Here we are…our predetermined destination."

Peering inside before stepping in, he felt a wave of incredible relief wash over his entire being when he saw that the room was empty. Totally empty. Holding the door open wide for him, she waved him inside and he slowly continued the daunting task of one foot in front of the other until they were both in the room with the door shut behind them. Deciding he could no longer find an acceptable spot on his lower lip to chew on anymore, he started on the upper instead as he looked around the room. He suddenly felt like he was in some sort of medieval dungeon surrounded by torture devices that would inflict all sorts of unbearable cruelties on his lower half and prayed that they wouldn't be approaching any of them. He rolled his eyes as she stood proudly next to the first piece of equipment on their left that seemed to be 

staring at him like it had a life of it's own as she patted the cushion that was obviously waiting for him to plant himself onto and grinned at him with a distinct twinkle in her eye. _'Yep, she's definitely sadistic."_

"Have a seat Dean."

"Be gentle with me, I'm a virgin," he tried to joke as he sat and she just let her mouth smile wide again as her eyes met his.

"Not for long," she said in what Dean could only describe as a sound of sheer pleasure at his absolute horror.

Nearly three hours, a gallon of sweat and tears and about a gallon of water later, he had most definitely had enough and actually cried 'uncle' on more than one anguished occasion. She had twisted him, pushed him, pulled him, stretched him and weighted him down only to force him back up again until his entire body screamed out in some sort of agony. Muscles ached, joints ached, bones ached and she knew it. She had been relentless in her medically sanctioned torture of the poor man that now lay totally spent and breathing heavily on a mat on the floor, but then again she had to be. She had somehow figured out his limits over the last couple days and had no problem pushing him right to them, stopping just before he could fall over the edge and plummet into nothingness. The smile of determination she had been displaying for the majority of the morning as they began their session had been replaced by a smile of satisfaction at not only having the gumption to work Dean like a dog through each and every curse word he threw at her, and there had been plenty of those tossed angrily in her direction over the last couple hours, but at the fact that, even through his pain, sweat, and frustration, he had done everything she had asked. Everything.

"Dean?" She questioned when he made no effort to get up off the floor as he lay there totally still with an arm thrown over his face.

"Dean has left the building…" he tried to joke, not really finding himself very funny at the moment. Julia found some mild amusement in it though and he snorted slightly to himself when he heard her chuckle.

"You ready to go back to your room?"

"Oh god, I thought you'd never ask.

He heard her feet on the floor directly in front of him and dropped his arm back onto the mat with a heavy thump before looking at her through exhausted eyes. Now that they were done for the day, her smile didn't look so bad anymore.

"Need some help up?" She asked with her hands extended out to him, hands that he would have readily taken had he been able to bring himself up into a seated position, but he didn't even have the energy for that at the moment. He just extended both his arms up into the air in a final act of surrender and she took hold of them and firmly pulled until he was actually sitting at a right angle. He knew there was no way in hell he was walking back to his room, but she had somehow known that too because, much to his surprise, she had a chair ready and waiting for him to be planted into for the return trip.

With the wheels locked into place, Julia wrapped a strong arm around Dean's bicep and without saying a word just pulled him up as he got his good leg underneath him and tried to stand in order to move the very short distance between the floor and the chair. He was shocked when he realized that he could barely support any of his own weight and that Julia had pretty much been lifting him off the floor almost entirely by herself. He decided right then and there that he didn't want to run into her in a dark alley if she was pissed off any time soon.

With his worn out body now gently deposited into the seat, Julia unlocked the wheels and pushed him out the door and back down the hall to the elevators. Once again, the ride had been silent, only this time it wasn't an uncomfortable one. When the doors opened wide, she pushed him back out and into more familiar surroundings, his eye catching something out the window that had gone totally unnoticed by him when he passed it the first time. Had he had the energy to do it, he would have jumped from the chair when the bright sunlight that had been reflecting off the shiny black hit him in the eye and he put a hand out to stop their forward progress. The excitement the sight had given him did at least offer him enough energy to wheel himself to the window and for the briefest of moments he forgot he was sore, tired, and aching.

"There you are baby…god, I've missed you," he crooned and Julia couldn't help but frown as she looked out the window herself, trying to figure out who he could possibly be talking about when he saw that nobody was down there. She was starting to think that maybe she had worked him just a little too hard.

"Who are you talking to Dean? There's no one there," she had to ask when he refused to leave the window for the longest time.

"That's my girl, right down there," he stated what he thought to be obvious as he pointed down to the 

human-bare lot.

"There's nobody down there Dean," she informed him bluntly and he just shook his head, seemingly mesmerized by what he was staring at.

"No, right there. See it, the way the sun reflects off her long, black body…" he started, then seemed to let a frown somewhat replace his ardor. "Damn it Sam, when was the last time you had her waxed? He knows it needs she needs a fresh coat every few weeks. I'm gonna have to have a little talk with that brother of mine about the finer points of…"

"You're talking about a car? All that mushiness is over a car?"

"Damn straight sister," he confirmed her suspicions for her and she just rolled her eyes, grasped the handles of the chair and started pushing.

"Ok, that's enough of that. I think you seriously need a shower now and maybe it needs to be a cold one," She informed him wryly as she pushed him back into his room, leaving him right in front of the open bathroom door. Turning a little more serious, she looked at him with a slight hint of concern and posed her question. "Seriously, do you need any help getting cleaned up?"

"Why? You offering?" He joked and all she could do was kick the wheel of his chair as she turned to leave.

"I'll take that as a no. If you don't need anything, I'm gonna go. I seem to have fallen a little behind schedule today."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Ok. Get some rest because we get to do that all over again tomorrow," she teased and before he could say or do anything, she snuck out.

Gratefully alone, he wheeled himself slowly into the bathroom and stripped without bothering to stand. Grasping hold of the shower bar, he dragged his weary bones into the stall and just turned on the water, letting it flow over him. He washed his body totally half-assed, shut off the water and dragged himself back out and into the chair before grabbing a towel to dry himself. Slowly wheeling himself to the closet that held most of his and Sam's stuff, he didn't even bother making an attempt at identifying which bag was his as he dug through the one on the top for boxers and a t-shirt, easily finding the former and giving them a quick sniff to make sure they were clean before painstakingly pulling them on, totally giving up on his search for a shirt. Back to the bed he went and with what little energy he still had, he stood and plopped himself back onto it, pulled up a blanket, and promptly fell fast asleep, ignoring that slight twinge of pain he was starting to get in the lower part of his stomach. That wasn't just sore muscles, but right now he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, his day was done and he would worry about that later.

Julia had been pretty pleased with the way things had gone today. Dean was obviously a very stubborn man, but also a very determined one. The heated swearing and vulgar name-calling had been nothing more than a front for him to keep some sort of manly image he felt the need to show intact but underneath all that defiant machismo, he had busted his ass and she knew if he continued to do exactly what he had done today, he'd be nearly 100 in no time. That would be enough for her to put up with the 'sick, twisted bitch', or 'evil spawn of hell' cracks, just to name the milder few. She walked through the empty hospital parking garage at nearly two in the afternoon, anxious to take a little break for the day after the grueling morning she had just had, totally unaware that she wasn't walking through it alone.

He brazenly approached her as she made her way to the darkest possible corner of the dimly lit staff parking area where her car was sitting nearly alone, his footsteps falling silently on the ground mere strides behind her. She had been shocked when she finally pulled her wandering thoughts together enough to realize someone was pressed firmly against her back as an arm suddenly wrapped itself tight around her throat, the strong stench coming from the quite obviously saturated rag now covering her mouth and nose gagging her. She struggled against the arm clamped around her neck but succeeded only in cutting off her own air, and as she slowly slumped to the ground as her vision faded into nothing, she looked into the eyes that stared down at her with both love and hate gleaming at her.

"Oh, you really are the perfect choice, aren't you," he told himself out loud as he scooped her limp body up off the ground and held it against his own. She didn't smell like his Trish, not yet, but her own natural scent seemed to excite him and instead of dropping her into his already open and awaiting trunk, he pulled open the passenger side door and gently placed her loose body on the seat inside instead. Quietly closing the door closed behind her and slamming the trunk lid closed, he slid behind the wheel of the car 

he was driving, pulled Julia's upper body down into his lap to shield her from view of anyone that may care to look, and left with his prize confident that not one person had seen or heard a thing.

**End Notes: Ok, the downward slide has begun...not just for Julia but Dean as well. As we come to the home stretch, I hope you all keep reading!! Thanks so much for reading so far and for all the great comments you have left. You have no idea what that means to me!!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Notes: One step closer to the conclusion. And yeah. I'm kinda dragging my feet a little. I also want to apologize for not responding to the great reviews from the last chapter in a timely fashion. I know it's no excuse but my life has been a little out of sorts lately and while torturing Dean is great therapy that's totally free, expressing my own personal feelings is a whole different hill of beans. So I'll say thank you now and I promise I will respond to them properly soon. (Yeah, I'm whining. Sorry.)**

Chapter 26

"Sam, it's well after four in the afternoon and I'm willing to bet we ain't gonna find anything in the few short hours we'll have before the damn library closes. Just stick that friggin' thing back into your pocket and we'll look into it tomorrow," Bobby stated rather crossly as if it hadn't been the first time he had make the exact same comment to the overly excited young man following closely behind him into the room.

"But Bobby, we've still got a couple hours be…" Sam started to argue, and quite obviously not for the first time either, before the older man stopped dead in his tracks and put his hand over Sam's mouth to silence him when he saw that Dean was not just deeply asleep but mumbling something he couldn't make out as he occasionally tossed and turned, the action of shutting Sam's annoying verbal discharge off serving a dual purpose. The last thing he wanted was Sam's big mouth to wake Dean from his conversation or his constant whine to continue to irritate him personally.

Sam opened his mouth to protest the abruptly rude way Bobby had shut him up until the older man pointed into the room directly at his sleeping brother and both men crept up slowly to the side of the bed as soundlessly as they possibly could, acutely tuning their ears to try and make out what Dean was saying and hoping that he wasn't just having a conversation with himself in whatever La La Land he may be in at the moment. Their hopes would be totally crushed when they made out a few words here and there that came from Dean's mouth as he let out an occasional moan or groan and both men couldn't help but just stare at one another and chuckle when they realized what it was that Dean was actually dreaming about.

"Oh baby… I know you like that…" was one of the first distinguishable phrases they heard and instead of shaking Dean enough to jar him not from his sleep but only from the his dreams, they decided to listen instead now that their amusement had been sparked, both men always on the lookout for potentially embarrassing material to use against the stubborn young man in the bed.

"Oh girl, Sammy just doesn't understand you like I do… you need to be treated like the lady that you are…"

Sam's wide smile turned into a slight scowl at the sound of his name coming from Dean's lips in what he could only describe as a creepy moan during what was not exactly a dream he really thought he should be a part of inside his brother's head and Bobby only laughed a little harder now that he had figured out something that Sam obviously hadn't realized yet. Bobby knew that Dean was not dreaming about a woman, even if Sam didn't.

"Oh baby, I've missed you so much… I'm gonna wax you and buff you like you've never been waxed before, then…"

That was the last thing Bobby could hear before he had to clamp his hand over his face to stifle the uproarious outburst that he was sure would erupt like a volcano if he listened to one more word the sleeping man said and as he turned to take off in a near run back the way he had come and out into the hallway, he barely made it through the door before he could hold his laughter no more. The wild hysterics echoing down the hall found their way into the room and the second Sam heard them he couldn't help but start laughing too now that the realization finally hit him. Dean was not dreaming about some big breasted woman in an overly tight sweater and painted o jeans but his damn car. That thought at least made him feel somewhat better because had that little excursion into his brother's normally perverted, slumbering head been something else, they both probably would have both needed therapy when Dean woke up. The controlled giggle coming from Sam's mouth seemed to quiet Dean's soft murmuring and the room fell silent for a few long moments before Dean actually spoke real, coherent words instead of the auto erotic fascinations he was murmuring earlier.

"Stop staring at me Sammy," Dean finally managed to say, his waking voice still raspy from the sleep it was trying so hard to pull itself from. "This gonna become a sick habit, you gawking at me every day?"

"I'm not staring at you Dean… or gawking," Sam chuckled back, noticing for the first time that the few movements his brother had made were slow and stiff, each one causing his face to twist or contort ever so slightly until he went still again and his muscles relaxed. "Dean, are you alright? You don't look very good."

"I'm just tired Sam…" he felt the need to remind his brother of the fact that by this time every day he was ready to pack it in, then felt the need to remind him of the rest as well. "…and in case you hadn't noticed, I was sleeping before you came storming in here."

"I know, I heard," Sam chuckled again, totally at his brother's expense. "Hey, sit up man; we brought you back something worthy of eating for a change."

"I'm not very hungry Sammy," Dean informed his suddenly overly cheerful brother as he made a monumental effort to roll over and turned his back to him, grabbing hold of the blanket that had worked its way down to his waist and pulling it back up to his chin again now that his bare upper half was starting to get chilled.

"Not even for a hot and greasy bacon double-cheeseburger, extra bacon and extra grease?" Sam teasingly asked back, reaching over Dean's body and shaking the bag gently in front of his face, the sight of the bag going unnoticed by the tightly closed eyes but the sound of the heavy contents being tossed around inside clearly heard. "No fries though. Bobby insisted on the burger, but I gotta draw the line somewhere."

"Aww, no fries… forget it then. That's like eating pancakes with no syrup or cookies with no milk," Dean quipped as he scrunched up his face in a mock look of displeasure and prayed that 

his little brother wasn't going to be the relentlessly persistent pain-in-the ass he usually was when he wanted things his way. "Seriously dude, I'm really not hungry right now. Maybe later, ok? I would kill for some water though. Think you can manage that for me?"

"Are you sure you're feeling ok?" Sam eyed him rather suspiciously and Dean knew that tone all too well. It was Sam's _'Dean, you're full of shit' _tone and as much as he wanted to just curl up and go back to sleep, he knew he would now have to scam his little brother with some intelligent conversation for a while before passing out for the night again. "You really do look like crap today."

"I said I was fine Sam. I just need some water…please," he made his request again as he forced himself to roll over onto his back, then decided he would throw his brother a little bone in the hopes he would take it gladly and back off for a while. "I learned firsthand for the first time today how brutal Julia can really be and I'm just really sore and tired. That's all there is Sammy, end of story."

"But…" Sam started as he turned to hand Dean the plastic cup filled nearly to the rim he had in one hand as he depressed the button to raise the back of the bed up with the other when he heard the gruff voice that came booming in; it no longer holding the light tone of amusement that had initially driven it from the room in a fit of laughter in the first place.

"Sam, I need your help. Can you come here for a minute?" Bobby called and Sam nearly jumped at the sound.

Both brothers' eyes met, Dean's holding the suspicious look this time and Sam just shrugged innocently as he passed him the cup, turned around and walked out into the hall to see what the other man needed. He could feel a lump start to form in his throat when he saw Mark standing there waiting for him and it only got bigger when he saw the look on Bobby's face matched the doctor's own deep frown. His fast paced walk turned into a tentative creep as he made his way out of the room while a pretty, young nurse Sam hadn't seen before made her way in and he approached both men apprehensively with his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

"What now?" He asked, not caring how rude the question sounded. He was way beyond being polite at this point.

"Hey Sam. I was just telling your uncle that Julia really put Dean through the paces today so try to go easy on him tonight," Mark started to casually tell him and Sam could already tell not only by the way he said it but by his rigid body language that there was more to come.

"Yeah, he told me," Sam started to say, but decided right away he wasn't willing to wait for Mark to tell him whatever he had to say in a round-about way. "Can we just get straight to the point please?"

"Sam…" Bobby wanted to say something but the irritated younger man just cut him off.

"Bobby…Mark, just tell me whatever it is you're trying so hard not to say," he huffed out with the roll of his eyes.

Sam stood there in total silence as Mark went over the events of the morning, making a point of stating in colorful detail what all the nasty ramifications of what had been done could very well be, the possibilities of that tear not being healed enough very real and potentially dangerous should it reopen. Bobby could clearly see Sam's eyes narrowing in what could be nothing less than rage when he heard that Trent Waterson, yet again, had found a way to torture Dean just a little bit more. Sam really didn't care that Mark emphasized more than once that everything he had just told him was what could happen; not what would happen, because Trent was like an oppressively thick, heavy smog hovering over Dean's head at all times, just waiting for the chance to suffocate him.

"Just keep an eye on him tonight, ok? He's not on any pain meds right now, so unless he asks for them, he's not getting any. I know it's a shitty thing to do to him, but it's the only way for you two to be able to tell what's going on or if something's wrong. Make sure he eats something before he crashes for the night and if all's well by morning, I think everything will be fine. If he even remotely hints at feeling sick or having any pain in his stomach though, you have me paged immediately," Mark bottom-lined it for both men and they just silently shook their heads in agreement with no questions asked. When all three sets of eyes caught the nurse that had entered Dean's room as Sam had exited coming out again and approaching them rather red-faced as she waved the little cup she carried in her hand triumphantly at him, Mark just shook his head in a negative manner and frowned, leaving frowns all the way around the quiet little trio.

"That was an interesting experience," she stated, not finding any other words to describe her second encounter with the elder Winchester for the day. She had, after all, been the one to set this entire series of events into motion this morning and was beginning to regret ever coming to work on this floor.

"Did he give you any trouble?" Mark questioned her calmly, noting how flustered she was, but clearly seeing she had done her job.

"No, not exactly. He just… he wouldn't… I mean he couldn't… oh, never mind. I'll take this downstairs personally, and then I'm going home. Good night, Dr. Horton," she shyly answered with her eyes fixed on the floor and she quickly scuttled away when the last word came out of her mouth, leaving the three men to themselves once again.

"Well, I guess you can go back in there now. Good luck gentlemen. If I don't hear from anyone sooner, I'll be back in the morning."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam snorted, and rather sarcastically at that.

"Well, let's go Sam. Looks like we're babysittin' tonight," Bobby stated abruptly as he grabbed Sam by the coat sleeve and dragged him back into the room, not wanting to hear one whiny, complaint filled word from the younger brother's mouth when he could see by the look on Sam's 

face that they were all poised on his tongue and ready to fly as Mark walked away. Bobby knew he would never say a word in front of Dean and that's exactly the way he wanted it to stay.

Dean glanced at the door disinterestedly as both men walked in, his mind clearly elsewhere and lost deep inside in his own thoughts judging by the blank look on his face as he sat mostly upright in his bed with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. Unfortunately for Dean, Sam was thankful he was still awake and intended on keeping him that way for a while. Putting on his best happy face, he casually strolled up to his brother's side and started speaking to him like nothing strange was going on in their universe.

"Cute girl. By the way you made her blush, I'd say I think she likes you," Sam lightheartedly tried engaging Dean into some friendly brotherly banter that Dean was most definitely not in the mood for judging by his sudden response.

"Dude, that was the most humiliating experience of my life! How do they expect you to pee in a cup when they're standing there watching you? I mean, hasn't she ever heard of performance anxiety? All she had to do was turn around for Christ's sake! She didn't have to…" he caught himself before he could finish that outburst when he quickly realized what he was about to announce and Sam took hold of the unintentional bait he dropped.

"She didn't have to do what Dean? What did she do?" Sam egged his brother, figuring his irritation alone would keep him awake for hours.

"None of your damn business what she did Sam, just forget it," he nearly growled, the amused look that had returned to Sam's face only annoying Dean more. Desperately wanting to change the subject now that he was indeed partially awake, he asked the question that would leave the last item up for discussion totally forgotten. "You two find anything useful out today or was the entire day just a big waste of time?"

"We found this," Sam excitedly blurted out when Dean asked and pulled something from his deep inside his jacket pocket that he had tucked away when Bobby had nearly yelled at him as they walked into the room. Handing Dean the small, black and white photo he held in his hand, he just stared at his brother and waited for him to respond.

"Yeah, so? It's an old picture of an even older house in the middle of what looks like nowhere. What's the point?" Dean stated as he tossed the faded photo back in his brother's direction and frowned again, not sharing Sam's enthusiasm at the little find.

"We checked all the Waterson properties out Dean, and I'm telling you, we never came across that house," Sam told him and waited for Dean to pick up on his line of thinking.

"What makes you think this is a Waterson house?" He asked, not seeing the connection. "Just because the man has an old picture of some old house doesn't mean it's in his family."

"Take a closer look at it Dean," Sam shoved the picture back into his brother's hand and waited for him to look at it, actually look at it.

The photo was of a large, two story farmhouse standing proudly behind two of the biggest, tallest Weeping Willow trees Dean had ever seen, the trees themselves being nearly as tall as the house itself. There was a car parked between one of the trees and the house and Dean placed it as being an old Model T from the early twenties. Standing on the porch that spread the entire length of the home were a man in a neatly tailored suit and a woman holding a small baby in her arms. Dean was starting to figure out his brother's thought process when he flipped the picture over and read what was written on the back. 'Trent -1921' was still clearly visible even with the extremely faded ink it had been written in standing out against the yellowed paper backing. Handing the photo back to his brother, Dean raised his eyebrows and stated the obvious.

"Uh Sammy, I may be wrong on this, but I'm pretty sure Trent's not 86 and if he is, that finally makes him our kind of problem."

"No Dean, he's not 85, but I'd be willing to bet he's got a grandfather or a great-uncle that is. We didn't bother to go any further back into the Waterson family history then his parents," Sam said as he shot the silent Bobby an annoyed glance before continuing, "That's why I wanted to hit the library tonight. I bet if we can find this house, we can find Trent's hiding place."

"What's the matter Geekboy, can't find it on your trusty Tonto laptop there?" Dean snarked and Sam just rolled his eyes. "What makes you so sure this is the place anyway?"

"I don't know, its just a feeling I have," was all Sam could say because it was the only answer he really had.

"Well, I'm sure you'll still have that feeling in the morning Nostradamus," Bobby finally said something as he silently reminded Sam with the look on his face that they had more important things to worry about for the rest of the night. Grabbing the bag Sam had deposited onto the bedside table, the older man dropped it in Dean's lap and flatly told him what he was going to do, the way he stated the phrase leaving no room for argument from the younger man. "You… eat that, now. You ain't going back to sleep 'til you do."

Dean rather reluctantly forced himself to down what he knew both men had thought they had been doing him a favor by bringing to him after a few short words of protest while Sam took his brother's advice and booted up his laptop to begin a cursory search for any information he could find on the rest of the Waterson clan, which ended up being not really much beyond the current patriarch of the family and his father before him, interestingly enough not named Trent. Totally frustrated with his lack of internet results, he just closed the lid and tossed the computer down next to him onto his bed, never once realizing that neither of the other two men in the room had said a word to the other in the longest time until he noticed that both Dean and Bobby had fallen fast asleep now that it was well after nine. Glancing quickly in Bobby's direction as he rose from his seated position on the bed, he crossed to the room to stare a little more intently at his brother, who hadn't moved not once since he'd looked at him last, which had surprisingly been hours ago. Aside from being all too still, Sam could see nothing else amiss in his brother's condition and deciding it was time to join the fray, he turned off all the lights and dropped himself onto his bed, his mind falling into sleep nearly as fast as his head hit the pillow.

Something harshly jolted Sam from his dreamless sleep and he jerked his body quickly into a seated position to scan the room for whatever it was that had caused the offending sound. It didn't take him long to realize it was morning when he saw the perky young girl bent over trying to clean up the mess she had made when she accidentally dropped the metal tray sporting what the hospital considered breakfast food she had been carrying with her all over the floor and much to Sam's dismay the shocking sound hadn't even caused Dean stir, who was still relatively out of it in his bed across the room. For the first time in days, Dean wasn't up before the sun and Sam didn't like that, not one bit. Glancing to the chair Bobby had been planted in the night before, he quite noticeably found it empty but wasn't the least bit surprised either. Climbing off the bed nearly as fast has he had sat up, he bent down next to the young girl frantically trying to erase any evidence of her small blunder.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she stammered as she scooped up the last few remains of the unidentifiable splattering up and wiped the floor clean with a towel and Sam just smiled at her warmly. "I'll bring in another one right away."

"Hey, it's ok. I needed to get up anyway." he reassured her and she breathed a small sigh of relief that he wasn't angry. He waited for her to come and go again before shaking his brother awake and if Sam didn't know better, he would have sworn Dean had fallen back into a coma again for how heavily he had been sleeping.

"Dean, wake up damn it," he finally barked nearly right in his brother's ear as he resorted to the drastic measures of pinching a chunk of skin on Dean's shoulder between his finger and thumb, the painful twisting of his flesh being the ultimate cause for his arousal.

"Ow, what the hell Sam," he groaned himself awake as he first rubbed the red mark now forming on his upper arm then wiped a finger at the dry, crusty sleep in his eyes and blinked repeatedly to focus on Sam's somewhat concerned face. It didn't take him long to realize that something was wrong when he felt the nagging ache that had been in his stomach the night before make its presence known in a much harsher way and it took all the effort he had to not let it show on his face every time he tried to move or shift his body into a more comfortable position, if one even existed. Giving up on finding a spot that didn't really bother him in one way or another, he just sat there and waited for Sam to speak.

"Hey, are you awake now?" Sam asked what Dean thought to be one of the dumbest questions he had ever heard from his brother in their entire lives.

"Are my eyes open?" His annoyed response indicated he was not only awake but mildly pissed off. "Did you really have to wake me up like that?"

"You didn't answer me when I shook you the first two times, so yeah; I had to wake you up like that. God Dean, you were so out of it just now I thought you were…"

"You thought I was what Sam…uhh, sleeping maybe?"

"Never mind. How do you feel?"

"Why do you have to ask me that ten times a day Sam? I'm fine, damn it. Do I need to tattoo it on my forehead for you?"

"Only if I can tattoo 'bullshit' in parenthesis right underneath it, or better yet, maybe on the palm of my hand," Sam smirked and had Dean not been using all his willpower to hide his discomfort from his overly astute baby brother, he probably would have found that amusing. "Here, eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Dean took one look at the conglomerated slop atop the tray Sam shoved before him and had to take in a deep breath to stifle the urge to gag when he not only saw it but caught a whiff of it. He knew if Sam moved that pile one inch closer to him he wouldn't be eating it but only succeeding in adding to it, assuming there was anything left in his stomach to offer up and he realized that it wasn't the food that was bothering him, it was him that was bothering him. He curled his nose up and pushed the tray back the way it had come from and before Sam could say a word, Dean cut him off.

"Too late dude, it's already cold and you know I can't eat cold oatmeal… at least I think that's oatmeal. Hard to tell by that funky gray color it's turning."

"Dean…" Sam said in a warning tone but Dean wasn't backing down.

"Sam, I'm not eating it and you can't make me. Go call Bobby and see where he is. He's probably on his way back from a coffee run anyway. You can tell him to stop and get some real food, then I think you've got a library to spend a fun-filled day at, don't you?"

"Dean…" he just repeated and it seemed that both bulls would be locking horns any second, the only thing saving them from ramming straight into one another being Bobby's well timed return to the room carrying a big, white box proudly displaying 'Krispy Kremes' on the top and a drink carrier full of coffee cups.

"Hah, see Sammy, Bobby knows how to take care of me," Dean proclaimed with a slight hint of victory in his tone as Sam just continued to glare at him. Dean could tell by the look on his brother's face that he thought 'bullshit' was probably an understatement today but he also knew that he'd have a much easier time with donuts then that shit heaped on the tray to help convince his little brother he really was fine. Donuts he thought he could do, mystery breakfast he knew he could not.

"Gee boys, did I miss the whole entire pissing contest?" Bobby sardonically asked both men as he added his own glare to Sam's and Dean suddenly felt even more uncomfortable in his own skin than he already did. "Guess I don't need to ask who won, do I?"

"What? Why do you two keep staring at me like I just took the last cookie in the jar?" He couldn't help but inquire, the constant stares starting to unnerve him.

"Because you look like hell kid," Bobby answered for both of them, pretty sure that was exactly what Sam was thinking.

"Yeah… well, I feel like hell too, thanks. Every inch of my body is stiff and sore and in less than two hours that wicked witch is gonna come walking through that door and make me do everything I just did yesterday all over again which is not gonna help my already less than sunny disposition any so excuse me if I don't look so damn pretty today, ok?" Dean intentionally added a definite whine to his tone as he tried defending himself, hoping to make both men feel guilty that they were treating him like a child. When he saw both sets of eyes drop from his face and drift away in different directions, he knew it had worked. God bless Julia and her relentless torture of him yesterday because he was using it to its fullest extent today. "If you guys don't mind, do you think you could just go and do your thing today and leave me alone to do mine?"

Bobby was the first to react to Dean's rather emotional outburst and all the middle man could do was smile internally when he saw the oldest of the three smack the youngest in the arm, grab one of the three cups still tucked in the holder he had in his hand and place it gently on the bedside table next to Dean, then turn his glare to Sam instead. "Come on boy, get dressed and let's get out of here."

"But…" Sam started to argue, then immediately shut himself up when Dean reached for the cup next to him and started sucking down coffee like it was the last time he would ever get the chance to drink his favorite strong, black liquid. As Dean silently sipped at the contents, Sam silently dressed and Bobby silently watched Dean and waited and when Sam was ready to go, they silently went.

Once he thought the coast was clear, Dean let out the breath he had been holding off and on since Bobby had come back into the room accompanied by the long, pained groan that he couldn't stop from coming out with it and wrapped an arm around his stomach as the hot coffee he had forced in under Sam's watchful eye was threatening to force its way right back out. He could only hope that the cold sweat he had broken out in was from that same hot fluid he really had drank entirely too fast but judging by the clenching in his stomach, he highly doubted it. When the urge fully hit, he moved as quickly as he could; first placing both feet on the floor and supporting himself against the bed before reaching for the bedside table first, then the chair next to it as he awkwardly made his way to the bathroom. Once safely inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it before grabbing for the toilet and lowering himself to the floor, patiently waiting for the inevitable to just come. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there hugging the cool porcelain as the intense urge to throw up mercifully passed on its own without producing its much undesired result and he was sure he could have just closed his eyes and gone right back to sleep where he sat the moment he started feeling somewhat normal again until the sound of Sam's voice booming into the room jerked him back to reality.

"Hey Dean, are you in there?" Sam questioned as he pounded on the door and Dean sucked in a deep breath and tried to make himself sound as normal as possible.

"Yeah, what?" He responded, wondering what the hell Sam could possibly be back for and knowing he couldn't stay in there all day should Sam have decided to stay.

"I'm gonna leave my phone here for you, just in case you need something, ok?" Sam announced, the 'just in case' indicating to Dean that Sam wasn't entirely convinced Dean was as ok as he was leading them to believe.

'_Damn it Sam, why do you gotta be so damn smart?' _He asked himself before responding to his little brother, already suspecting what was on Sam's mind. "Ok, thanks. Just don't be calling me all day dude, I've got plans today."

"Yeah, yeah. Later dude, have fun with your new best friend," Sam casually joked and Dean nearly cried when he heard the blessed sound of Sam's long feet shuffling away from the door. He waited for the longest time before trying to get back on his feet and when he decided he just couldn't do it, he crawled from the bathroom back to his bed, slowly climbed up and back under the covers and waited for the rest of his hellish day to begin. He had no idea what time it actually was, but knew that Mark would be showing up soon and there was nothing he could do at this point to hide his gradually worsening condition. He could only hope that whatever it was that was ailing him, Mark could fix it before Sam came back.

Once he finally found himself in a somewhat comfortable position, he let his heavy head fall against his pillow and sat there unmoving, watching the door and waiting for Mark to come. The minutes seemed to drag slowly on until they turned into hours and much to Dean's surprise not only had Mark not shown up at his usual time but Julia hadn't either. By nearly eleven, Dean had dropped off into a light sleep, the increasing pain in his lower abdomen preventing him from dropping off any further but all the while wondering why Julia hadn't shown up yet but thanking god that she hadn't. He vaguely heard the muffled beeping of his watch striking noon in the closet across the room, but it was the voice he heard that started bringing him around again.

"Dean, wake up," she whispered softly in his ear and it somewhat startled him that she was that far into his personal space. He liked her, but not like that.

"I don't feel so good Julia; can we not do this today?" He mumbled back, knowing there was no way now he was setting one foot out of his bed the rest of the day. His head was throbbing, his stomach was tied in painful knots, and his mouth felt like someone had stuffed an entire field of cotton plants in it while he was sleeping.

"Come on Dean, wake up please. I need your help… she needs your help," the familiar voice verbally prodded him again and as Dean drifted closer to awareness, he realized it wasn't Julia talking to him.

"Trish? What the hell's going on? Who needs my help?" He groggily asked as he tried to sit up a little straighter, the sudden movement readily reminding him why he was grateful he'd been left alone in the first place.

"My brother's back Dean, and he's got her," she woefully told him and she suddenly had his totally undivided attention. "You've got to help her Dean,"

"He's got who? Who's he got Trish?"

"He's got Julia, that's who."

**End Notes:****As always, that's for reading and reviewing. It really means the world to me. (See what I mean about expressing my feeling...yak!)**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The music playing in her head was soft and soothing to her as her heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open, the sights around her in the dimly lit room slowly coming into focus the closer her mind crawled towards full awareness. The more coherent she became, the more she realized that the music wasn't just in her head but coming from somewhere else in the room, a room that was completely foreign to her. Making a small effort to sit her body up on the oversized bed she found she was sprawled out on, she quickly came to the realization that she could barely pick even her upper back up off the lumpy mattress at all; not because she physically couldn't, but because she somehow had heavy shackles clamped tightly around her wrists that were secured to the headboard by even heavier chains, leaving her with barely enough room to move in any direction and preventing her from up-righting herself. With just the right amount of slack to draw her back up and rest her elbows on the soft, giving surface, she dug the bent joints in hard beneath her, slid her entire frame towards the head of the bed to allow her body a little more wiggle room, and started taking a better look around.

The first disturbing image that came to her mind was how she found herself dressed. The long, bright white dress with a beautiful bodice of lace she seemed to be wearing was most definitely not an article of clothing from her rather thrifty wardrobe, nor could she remember ever putting the very expensive looking item on. The unnerving change of attire accompanied by the overpowering scent of not only flowery shampoo but matching body wash that seemed to ooze from her hair and skin made her truly start to wonder what had happened to her while she had been obviously unconscious. Refusing to let panic start welling up inside her, even though she had absolutely no idea where she was and no recollection of how she even got there, she called out into the dark that seemed to blanket the room beyond the light the little table lamp next to her created and wondered what she would get back as an answer.

"Mark? Are you in here?" She questioned tentatively, promising herself that if this was some weird game he was playing, he was going to kill him slowly and painfully. She got no response other than the music echoing in the air that subtly seemed just a hair louder, the change in volume barely noticeable save for the fact that it was the only sound coming from deep within the darkness around her. The music was familiar to her, yet she couldn't place where she had heard it before and with her first question going utterly ignored by whoever had adjusted the volume control, she rephrased it and asked it again. "Is anyone in here?"

Her stomach started to tense up almost painfully when she heard the distinct shuffle of feet on what sounded like a concrete floor in the distance and as much as she had suspected someone was in the room with her, the almost dreaded sound of dragging soles on hard ground now confirmed it. Darting her eyes from left to right without moving her head in either direction to expand her range of vision as she tried to figure out where the footfalls that were being masked by the music were coming from, she tried to remain cool and collected and wished her 'host' would show him or herself. With nerves that seemed to become more and more electrified with each footstep she heard, she was finding it difficult to keep her seemingly calm composure intact.

"Come on Mark, I know you said you wanted to try something new and exciting, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind," she nervously joked as she shook her legs to rattle the chains restraining those appendages as well now that she noticed that they, too, were firmly fastened to the bed in an identical manner as her arms were and she nearly jumped from her skin when the slithering of feet finally ceased and she caught a glimpse of a lengthy shadow from the corner of her eye, the voice that accompanied the brief sight sounding all too familiar to her, its tone almost instantly recognizable to any and all hospital staff that would hear it.

"I'm sorry Julia, Mark can't come out to play today," he said rather teasingly as he stepped out from the shadows into the light and Julia had to look twice in order for her to believe what she was seeing, the second look not really helping much to eliminate her confusion and deciding to take a third for good measure. Standing before her was not the normally arrogant prick that barked orders like a self-obsessed, narcissistic dictator but a tall, rather slim but well built, soft-featured and strikingly handsome man in a tight fitting pair of jeans and a black, button-up shirt with short cropped blonde hair and the bluest eyes she was sure she had ever seen. They may have been the bluest eyes she had ever seen, but the longer she stared into them she realized that they were the coldest eyes she had ever seen as well. They held almost no emotion in them whatsoever and she wondered if the man was even human. "I guess you'll just have to settle for me instead."

"Dr. Waterson?" She puzzlingly asked, not necessarily to confirm the man's identity but to simply 

question what he, of all people, would be doing standing next to her as she lay chained to a bed like a medieval prisoner in some dirty castle's dungeon.

"Might I suggest we dispense with the formalities Miss Campbell, considering we are going to get to know each other so much better over a very short period of time? Please, call me Trent and I'll call you…," his tone was emotionless as he spoke, his voice never speaking her actual given name as he started to pace the length of the bed. "…well, we'll just take that as it comes."

"Alright then. Since we're going to be on a first name basis, would you mind telling me where I am and what I'm doing here, Trent?" The name sounded wrong in so many ways when it came out of her mouth but she knew it was better to placate him then rile him considering how eerily calm he seemed to be. His eyes told a different story though, there clearly being an intense anger hiding behind the cool exterior that hadn't been there moments before.

"All in good time, my dear. First, I'd like to discuss that boyfriend of yours. He's really the reason you're here right now, if you must know," he began, and in her surprise, she couldn't help but cut him off.

"Mark? Mark's the reason I'm here? Why?" She strung the questions together in rapid succession, not waiting for an answer between them as she felt the fear she had been holding down in the pit of her stomach start to creep its way up when she wondered if he had done something sinister to Mark before imprisoning her wherever she was right now.

"Oh Julia, I've tried so hard to rid my life of that seemingly non-exterminable patient of his that everyone seems to bend over backwards for just because my father says they have to, but I swear that man is like a cock roach. I try to put him down, but he just keeps coming back for more. I guess it doesn't really help that every time I try to put him out of his misery, Mark and that overly-clingy, pathetic little brother of his keep getting in my way, does it?" He paused in his thoughts for a moment before continuing, not really speaking to her but more to himself as he replayed the events of the last week over in his head. "First, there was the surgery. If Mark had just left me alone to make that tear in that blood vessel a little bigger like I had planned on instead of seeing it and asking me if I was going to close it up or not, his death would have been relatively quick and easy without him ever waking up or feeling a thing."

The realization of what he was starting to tell her hit her like a brick to the head that had fallen from the top of a skyscraper and she couldn't hold her tongue when he paused yet again as if his mind needed to catch up with his mouth. "Oh my god, you did try to kill him, didn't you? You tried to kill Dean."

"Of course I did, and not just once. When Mark dashed my hopes of watching Dean slowly bleed to death, I tried yet another civilized approach. Those drugs I overdosed him on should have just stopped his breathing in his sleep and he would have peacefully and painlessly drifted away without ever waking up, but that damn brother of his that never leaves his side had to be right there like a parasite to save him again by calling who? Mark," he started out calmly explaining his actions, but the more he told her, the more agitated he started to become. "It was one thing for your boyfriend to squash my dreams of finishing Dean off yet again, but calling my father and tattling on me like a jealous schoolboy was another."

"Mark didn't call your father. That was someone else's doing," Julia tried defending Mark, knowing full well he hadn't been the one to make that call to the senior Waterson, even though he had intended on doing just that eventually, but by the continued angry stare on Trent's face, it was to no avail. "… and what do you mean, 'finish Dean off again'?"

"I guess it doesn't really matter now, does it? What's done is done and soon Dean won't be an issue anymore anyway," he continued, ignoring her question as if it had never been asked. He would get to that when he was good and ready to. He did have all the time in the world to toy with her after all and he intended on making the most every second. "Besides, I'm sure he's he won't be long for this world for too much more."

"I hate to be the one to break this to you considering you have me in a rather precarious position, but not only is Dean not knocking on heaven's door with both fists, he has made some very remarkable progress in his recovery since you drugged him nearly out of his mind. He's been rehabbing so hard that he was actually up on his feet and walking around yesterday. Doesn't look like you're going to get your wish this time either," she had started to drop her little bomb tentatively, but she couldn't contain the defiance that ultimately took over, her heart torn between wanting to crush his crazy dreams herself but needing to look out for her own well-being now that it was clear to her that Trent Waterson was probably insane. She couldn't tell if she had gotten a rise out of him or not when he just glared into her determined, blue eyes, but the broad smile he flashed indicated she had just told him exactly what he had wanted to hear.

"That's where you would be dead wrong, my dear. You see, I paid Dean a little visit before I answered 

my father's summoning and I'm sure that by now he's not feeling very up to snuff. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that by now he's feeling downright miserable, or worse."

"Why? What did you do to him?" She couldn't help but think about what Mark had told her before Dean's last rehab session and now she was more concerned for the man then she was for herself.

"Oh, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over. Dean isn't really your problem anymore anyway. If he's not dead from a raging infection in the next couple of days, I'll make sure I finish him off properly soon enough and it won't be as pleasant as my first few attempts. He is never going to see beyond those hospital walls again," he sounded like he was ready to start drooling at the thought of Dean's painful demise. She was thoroughly convinced Trent had gone well off the deep end, but what she couldn't figure out was why.

"Isn't it enough that your sister almost killed him when she ran him down? My god, what could he possibly have done to you that you want him dead so bad," Julia was so shocked at everything Trent was telling her she was having a hard time believing any of it. This had to be nothing more than a bad dream she prayed she would wake up from very soon.

"It's not what he's done, it's what he knows," Trent casually answered as if his response should be obvious. "He knows that I killed my sister and I just can't have him sharing that little secret with anyone, now can I?"

"You did what?" She asked him, not expecting to hear that as his reason for wanting Dean dead as much as he did.

"Oh, don't sound so surprised. Her death really was an accident of sorts. I hadn't meant to kill her; I just wanted her to shut her whining mouth and leave me alone. I guess things just got a little out of hand, but God help me I liked it and needed to do it again. That's why I killed those others as well. You have no idea what a rush it is to have someone's life in the palm of your hand, knowing you can crush it at any second. It is the ultimate exhilaration! As for poor Dean…well, sorry to say wrong place, wrong time but no sense in leaving any loose ends. Especially now, considering what he knows about me and how many lives he seems to have. Don't worry though, I will end his life, one way or another."

"But the accident…"

"Wasn't an accident, not really. Hitting Dean, that was an accident. Hitting that tree, that wasn't and no one seems to have figured that out yet, except the young man in question of course, which is why he has to die. Then maybe when I'm done with him, I'll get that cocky brother too… and the uncle if I feel like completing the hat trick. Jury's still out on those two, but Dean, he's a must."

"So you're the one that killed those two girls, aren't you? It's been all over the news that it's the work of a possible serial killer. Funny how they both looked just like your sister, isn't it?" She asked him, her tone rather condescending and he definitely didn't like it.

"Funny how you look a lot like my sister too, isn't it?" He sneered at her and the instant he said it, her eyes went wide with terror. "Ooh, struck a nerve there, didn't I? Don't worry, my dear. I don't plan on ending your life so quickly. In fact, you're such a feisty one that I may just keep you around for a very long time."

She stared at him wide eyed as he turned his attention to the little, brown box resting on the small, wooden table next to her and it didn't take long for her to figure out what it was she was looking at. It wasn't her area of expertise, but she had taken a psychology class or two in college and knew full well what that device had been used for. Watching him carefully as he flipped the switch on the control panel up, she heard the electrical whine it emitted and the impending torture she knew he was about to inflict on her made her struggle in vain against her leaden restraints. Seeing that she was going to try fighting him tooth and nail and deciding he wasn't in the mood for any type of rebellion, he jerked hard on the chains that restrained her arms until her elbows came out from under her and her upper body fell back down onto the bed, leaving her flat and unable to move anything but her head. Sliding a stopper of sorts through the links to take away all of her slack and keep her in that prone position, she fought him every inch of the way as he tried to force a rubber bite block between her unwilling teeth, her struggle against him valiant but in the end a losing one as he was just too strong. Clamping a firm hand over her mouth before she could force the chunk of rubber back out, he taped her mouth shut with a long, thick piece of gray tape and finally spoke to her for the first time in minutes.

"Can't have you biting your tongue off now, can we?" He somewhat chuckled at that thought. He did want to be able to keep engaging her in stunning conversation later, but if she did bite the muscle off, he would be more than happy to add it to the rest of his ever growing collection. He really was an easy man to please in that respect.

Once he had her mouth secured, he attached the electrodes that ran from the machine to her head, the constant movement left and right she made doing nothing to dislodge the metal from her temples and all she could do now was brace herself for the inevitable. Without saying another word, he turned back in the direction of the humming machine, twisted the knob to make the box whine a little bit louder and smiled at her as she stared at him, tears now flowing steadily down her cheeks.

"Welcome home Trish," he nearly moaned as his thumb depressed the black button that sent the current flowing directly to her head, causing her body to start shaking uncontrollably. Without removing his finger from the button he held down so firmly, he slowly turned the dial and watched as her shaking escalated into convulsive jerking. He stood there transfixed for as long as he thought her body could stand the abuse as she violently contorted and contracted against the mattress, her blue eyes rolled far enough to the back of her head to leave them a bloodshot semi-white and he finally dropped his hand from the control panel and shut the circuit when he decided she had had enough for today. Her body instantly went limp, the slight twitching exactly what he wanted to see once he was through. Pulling the stoppers he had slid into the chains to give her back the slack her arms needed, he dropped himself down on the bed next to her and drew her quivering body into his arms. Burying his face in her hair and taking in the smell of his long dead sister, he laid his body down next to her and let his mind drift off into a deep sleep with her right next to him.

"It's so nice to have you back," he whispered to her, his mind now just as turned off as hers was.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Notes: Ok, I've been working on this one for days now and seriously thought about posting it in sections, but I guess that wouldn't make much sense. (I think you'll all agree after you read it too) Anyway, since I haven't updated this one on so long, I guess it's only fair I dump a really long one your way. Sorry if it's too long and droll. Thanks to everyone still reading and in my haste to get this up before going out for the evening, I probably didn't proofread as well as I should have, so sorry for any mistakes.

Chapter 28

With no windows and no doors to shed any natural light anywhere, Julia really had no concept of time whatsoever. It could be morning, it could be noon, or it could be night for all she knew, having no real idea of how long she had been sleeping. Well, not really sleeping but driven into mindless unconsciousness by the stark raving lunatic lying in the bed right beside her that was softly snoring in her ear as her head rested against his lightly rising and falling chest. Memories slowly started coming back to her when she originally started to wake, the sight of not her beloved fiancée Mark's comforting embrace holding on to her in a near death-grip but that of Trent Waterson's evil hand starting the slow remembrances of what she could only assume were from the night before. As soundly asleep as he was, she still couldn't find a way to wiggle out of his firm grasp, so she just laid there waiting for him to rise and let her mind bring forth all the things he had told her that she probably shouldn't even be remembering after what he had done to her.

It felt like hours before he finally started to stir and she forced her eyes shut when she saw his start to flutter open, not wanting to let on that she was awake and had been for some time now. Loosening his grip on her upper body, he felt her cringe slightly beneath him when he stroked her hair gently with an open hand while he took in her remarkable beauty before releasing her to stretch his muscles out to their fullest extent and let out a rather satisfied groan as he slid out from under her now lax form and climbed casually from the bed. Fixing his gaze on her with his cold, blue eyes, he spoke softly and almost lovingly to her as she tried to lie totally still on the bed, feigning sleep.

"Good day Julia. Did you have a nice rest?" He asked in such a casual tone it almost made her wonder if he had gone entirely insane by now. "Come now dear, I know you're awake by the way your entire body tensed when I brushed my hand against your hair. Don't be shy, open your eyes and let's have a nice chat. Then I'll make us something to eat and we can decide how to spend the rest of our day together."

"What time is it?" She asked him rather shyly now that he knew she was awake, yawning and stretching her own body out for appearances sake only.

"Does that really matter? Time of day is so inconsequential to us considering we have all the time in the world to spend together, you and I," he smiled as he spoke, the grin seemingly a sincere one. "I am so looking forward to our time together."

"How long have we been down here?" She changed the question, wanting to get at least some chronological bearings back since she had control over nothing else.

"Now why would you ask that? Trying to figure out how long you've been missing and wondering if anyone has even noticed you're gone yet?" He snidely asked. "Not enjoying my company?"

"Something like that," she responded cautiously, his callous tone of voice giving her a slight chill.

"Don't cloud that pretty little head of yours with thoughts of a rescue, dear. I can assure you that we will never be found where we are. Nobody coherent on earth, other than me of course, even knows this place exists and believe me when I tell you that not a living soul in either heaven or hell is going to find us here. No cavalry… not now, not ever," he nearly gushed with pleasure at the thought and it came out tenfold in his words as he spoke them.

"You really are crazy, aren't you?" She flatly stated; fear and anger mixed in her tone.

"Now I truly find that quite offensive. You really should watch your tongue before it gets you in trouble. I do enjoy having you around at the moment, but should you start becoming a mouthy nuisance like my dear sister was, well…"

"Well what? You'll kill me like all those others? Like you've tried to kill Dean?" His unspoken threat forced her to lash out verbally at him and she instantly regretted what she had said.

"Oh, so you remember our conversation from last night, or perhaps it was this morning? I just can't seem to keep track of time when I'm here. And here I thought you'd have no recollection of any of it. Too bad, I was so looking forward to telling you the story all over again."

"Yes, I remember it. I remember all of it, so spare me the details," she proudly told him, not concerned much with irritating him anymore.

"Then do tell, what exactly is 'all of it'?" He questioned, her comments prompting a sudden flurry of action in the pit of his stomach. He had reveled in telling her everything he had done earlier while he relived it all in his head, but somehow the anticipation of hearing it from someone else's lips, in someone else's words, was even more enticing.

"You killed your sister, you killed those other poor girls, and you're desperate to kill a totally innocent man because you seem to think he knows all of your deep, dark secrets. A totally innocent man that you've nearly killed twice already, I may add. Does that about sum it up nicely for you?" She was nearly yelling at him by the time she was through, not willing to play the game she knew he was trying to play with her when she saw the growing excitement on his face.

"Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't seem to sound as interesting, does it? " His shoulders slumped slightly as she cruelly mocked him, his eagerness to hear her repeat his tale to him crushed by her angered and all too bluntly short words. With his desire to once again experience the rush he always seemed to get when he played his little game and not having it satisfied by her 

verbal retelling, he decided now was as good a time as any to bask in the moments he did so enjoy.

Walking slowly but deliberately to the head of the bed and jerking all the slack from Julia's chains away from her to leave her with no extra room to move, her eyes met his to silently ask what it was he was planning on doing, as if she didn't already know. "You know Julia, you really shouldn't upset me like that because it just makes me want to hurt you, and contrary to what you probably believe, I really don't like hurting you. I guess that just means I'll have to make myself forget it is you for the time being."

Fastening the chains to the bed to keep her in an unmovable position, he continued his preparations exactly the way he had started them the last time, only this time taunting her as he worked. "Do you know how I killed my little sister?"

"Not really, and I don't think I want to know either," she answered, the comment going unheeded as he continued to speak at her.

"She just wouldn't shut her mouth. She was always nagging at me about my drinking and partying and I think I just finally snapped," he began to tell her as he sat down hard next to her on the bed and grabbed her head forcefully by the hair, pulling her as close to him as he could with what little maneuvering room he had left her with, the action causing her to let out a startled shriek. "So I took her by the head, ripped out a nice chunk of her hair and bashed her face in against the dashboard of the car she came to pick me up in."

Julia's eyes went wide at the harsh and unfeeling way Trent spoke about the death of his own sister at his hands, the emotionless tone he spoke each word in scaring her more and more every second he continued to rant, each word increasing in volume but not feeling. Opening her mouth in an effort to say something back to him that she hoped would calm him now that she had riled, he had no intentions of giving her any opportunity to say a word as he shoved that hard piece of plastic usually reserved for mental wards and dentists between her teeth again, holding it firmly in place with his thumb while reaching for the thick, gray tape to secure it with.

"You know something though, that didn't kill her. No, instead of it killing her, do you know what happened next?" He asked, her inability to answer not bothering him in the least as he flipped the switch to the electroshock machine still resting on the table next to the bed into the on position, the hum it emitted making him surge with pleasure and her with dread.

"Did you know my sister was an epileptic? Of course you did, everyone knew that considering it was all over the news for days after the 'accident'," he continued rambling on as he carefully placed the electrodes against her temples before turning back to the wooden box again to crank the dial, his attention momentarily drawn back to Julia now that her struggles had somehow shook loose the cold metal pressed against the flesh of her head.

"So, as I was saying before; bashing my beautiful sister's face in wasn't enough to kill her at first. No, it just caused her to have a rather nasty seizure," he sighed, replacing the headset and securing it with a long strip of duct tape he ripped from the roll and wrapped around her head. 

"Much like the one you're going to have right now. Oh, and don't worry about a thing. I've made sure to turn up the juice enough to ensure you won't remember any of this when it's over, except maybe your name. That way I can enjoy telling it to you all over again later."

He was ready to press the button that would send the electrical current coursing throughout her entire body and rendering her physically helpless until something to his side caught his eye, something Julia couldn't see from her prone position on the mattress. Turning his back to the terrified woman as he flipped the mechanical monster back off, he wandered over to the small black and white monitor mounted on the wall that was well out of Julia's field of vision and didn't know whether to smile or frown as he watched the images from the security camera he had installed of a vehicle slowly pulling up the driveway, until he caught a good glimpse of the driver as he spoke to someone he couldn't see in the passenger's seat. That glimpse was enough to spread an eerily evil grin from ear to ear across his face.

"Well, it would appear we have some very welcomed company," his heart nearly leapt with glee as he reached for the Louisville slugger propped up in the corner and nearly danced out of her sight to the door of his secret room to wait for the poor unfortunate soul that would be walking through it first.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Please tell me you're not serious," Dean stared into those now familiar blue eyes that seemed to be filled with fear, but not fear for herself. They were filled with fear for Trent's latest victim, the woman Dean cursed on a daily basis, albeit it respectfully.

"I wish I could tell you this is all a bad dream, but it's not. Trent's back and has been for days now. I wanted to tell you… to warn you so badly, but I just couldn't seem to get through to you until now."

"Are you telling me you're the one causing all this pain?" Dean asked her as he wrapped an arm around his waist and attempted to sit up a little straighter, the slight pressure the act of resting his own heavy limb against his body sending heated waves of discomfort up and down his entire frame, his only relief coming when he dropped his arm back at his side and went totally still. Taking a moment to let his breath catch back up with his lungs, he remembered what she had said about only being able to get through to him when he was in some kind of agony and occasionally needing to cause it and he prayed to whatever gods may be listening to him that this time was no different, although judging by the light sheen of sweat that had broken out on his chest and brow, he highly doubted it. "If it is, you can stop now because I gotta tell ya, you have my full attention."

"No Dean, it's not coming from me but I have to say thank you to whatever is causing it because we wouldn't be having this conversation if you weren't in the pain you're in right now and since I think I'm probably the only one that knows where my brother is hiding, who else can I tell?"

"Wait a second; you know where your brother is? I thought you said you didn't," Dean asked, unable to hide his shock at the revealing announcement.

"I didn't know… not at first. I hadn't been there in such a long time that it took me a while to figure it out, but I'm pretty sure I know where he's taken Julia."

"Is it a big farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with a couple of huge willow trees that are damn near as big as the place itself?" Dean hastily described what he remembered from the photo Sam had shoved in his face the day before and hoped she would confirm his little brother's suspicions.

"How did you know that?" She couldn't hide her astonishment at what Dean seemed to already know.

"Sam found an old picture of it when he was digging through Trent's place yesterday. It even said 'Trent' on it. So, wanna enlighten me who the other Trent is?"

"He's was… I mean is my grandfather," Trish started to tell him but his mind was turning too fast to actually listen now that it finally seemed to be there was an end to this entire ordeal in sight.

"Wait a second. Sam and Bobby checked out every piece of real estate owned by the Waterson's. How come they didn't come across this one sooner?" He questioned, rather confused by her latest revelation.

"That's because it's still owned by my grandfather on my mother's side. Sam wouldn't find it on a list of Waterson owned property because it isn't owned by a Waterson, at least not yet. I'm sure once my grandfather passes and my mother inherits everything they'll just add it to the ever growing list, but for now it's still in my grandfather's possession," she sighed, the mention of a grandfather bringing up what looked like an amazingly wide range of feelings in her.

"I sure hope you remember the address to that place," he stated as he forced his body upright on sheer will alone and tried to ignore every jolt of pain that tore through his midsection as he did it to grab Sam's phone that he had left just out of his reach on the bedside tray next to him and flipped it open, surprised that his little brother hadn't called not once the entire morning.

"Who are you trying to call?" Trish asked as she swiped at the cell in Dean's hands rather unsuccessfully, the only thing making him drop the phone was the cold chill that shocked his skin at her attempted contact.

"Cops. Anonymous tip should do it. They'll have that place surrounded in minutes when I tell them their latest kidnap victim is in there," he angrily tried to say as he reached for the phone again, his action stopped by the blanket statement she made next.

"Oh no they won't. They will all know exactly whose house that is the second you give them the address and you'll be lucky if they send one squad car with a meter maid in it out there to check 

it out. They'll just say they found nothing and chock your call up as some crazy person sending them on a wild goose chase. Have you forgotten who practically owns this entire county?"

"You mean it's not Donald Trump?"

"Very funny. Even if they do send the entire police force out there en masse, they'll never find him inside. He really did choose the best place to hide himself."

"How's that?" Dean scowled, his curiosity peaked.

"The house has a secret room in the basement that, unless you know how to access it, you would never know it's there. Grandpa took us down there to show it to us once, so proud of its history, and we used to hide in there when our parents would start fighting like they usually did. Even my mom and dad didn't know the room existed, so unless we can show the police how to get in, they'll never find the room or Trent and Julia."

"Aw hell, this just gets better and better, doesn't it?" Dean stated in a tone of total aggravation. Why could nothing ever be easy?

"Keep in mind that should all those things actually happen and Trent is caught, what kind of punishment do you think he'll get. A couple years in a nuthouse and a slap on the wrists and he'll be right back out on the streets again. You know it as well as I do Dean, he's a monster and he needs to be stopped."

"Can you tell me how to get into that room?"

"Probably, why?" She answered; her own curiosity peaked now, this time not interfering with his next move.

Saying nothing, he picked the phone up that had fallen into his lap and started punching in numbers, not really sure what key would speed dial Bobby's phone. Hitting the 'talk' button when he was done keying in what he was pretty sure was the older man's cell number, he waited patiently for a response and frowned when he didn't have to wait very long. Without ever hearing one ring, he immediately heard the gruff sound of Bobby's voice indicating that he couldn't come to the phone and asked the person kind enough to be searching for him to leave a message so he could call them back when he got around to it.

"Sam… Bobby… it's me. You've been at that damn library long enough to read "War and Peace"…twice. If you haven't found that house yet, just call me because a little birdie has whispered in my ear where it is and we've got big trouble coming. Shit, I hope you get this message soon because we don't have a whole lot of time. Call me… like, yesterday." Snapping the phone shut, Dean hit the redial once for good measure, then snapped the cell closed once again when he received the same results.

"I take it he didn't answer?" She asked/stated the obvious when a nervous silence settled between them.

"What was your first clue, the fact that I had to leave a message?" Dean barked out of frustration.

"I'm sorry Dean, I know this is the last thing you need burdening you right now, but I don't know how much longer he's going to let her live…" she started to say, not really sure where she was going with the comment but not being able to figure it out when he rudely cut her off.

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out already," he said to her as he sucked in a deep breath and grabbed hold of the bedside rail before quickly jerking his body up into a fully seated position, his mouth unable to contain the pained groan that escaped it as he moved. Forcing himself to breathe in deeply when he thought for sure he'd be unable to breathe at all, he sat motionless and tried to gather the strength he needed to climb off the bed. Every movement he seemed to make sent a new wave of pain and nausea throughout him and in true Dean fashion he seemed to tap into it somehow, using it as the fuel he so desperately needed to get his body moving. With his feet firmly planted on the floor and his hands flat against the bed for support, he took one shaky step after another towards the wall behind the bed where a set of crutches waited for him as if knowing they would be needed.

"What are you doing?" Trish interrogatorily questioned him when he finally had the crutches in hand and was leaning heavily on them, trying to catch his breath once again.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Someone's gotta go out to that house and since we really can't wait for Sam to pull his head out from whatever book he's got it stuck in, I guess that leaves just one person. You said it yourself, you don't know how much longer he's gonna keep her alive, so the sooner the better."

"No Dean, you can't go there; not like this. You can barely stand up, let alone walk. How do you propose you're going to stop him once you find him?"

"I'm just gonna shoot him. I don't need to stand to do that," Dean stated rather matter-of-factly without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"But, what about that 'no killing humans' rule…"

"I'm kidding. Don't worry, I'll think of something. Come on, time's a wasting," he tried to flash her a reassuring smile as he walled up his agony somewhere deep inside him and hobbled to the closet that contained most of their meager belongings.

Rummaging through his bag, he drew out a pair of jeans, stared at them for a minute as he tried to figure out how he was going to put them on, then clumsily walked to the nearest chair to settle down into. Sliding one leg after another into the denim as quickly as his aching body would let him, he held his breath as he stood and pulled the baggy pants up over his hips to his waist and just stood there staring at the button and zipper when he realized they were both already buttoned and zipped. Letting go of the waistband, the jeans he so painstakingly tried to put on just fell off his hips and down to his knees, his body not having enough mass to hold them up on its own anymore.

"Damn, Kirstie Alley eat your heart out. Jenny Craig's got nothing on the Lincoln Town Car diet," he groaned as he sat back down and kicked the useless piece of apparel off again. In an effort to conserve what little gas he still had left in his slowly draining tank, he opted to drop his body onto the floor instead of standing up to walk, the cool tile being so much closer and easier to navigate.

On unsteady hands and knees, he dragged his body back to the closet and dug through Sam's bag this time, pulling out what appeared to be a clean pair of his brother's normally undersized pants. From his seated position on the floor, he once again slid both legs in but instead of standing, he laid his body flat against the cold floor and inched them up the rest of the way, somehow doubting the trousers would fit but being totally surprised that they, too, were a tad too big but thankfully wearable. Rolling back onto his hands and knees again, he continued to search the closet for a clean shirt, of which he stole one of Sam's; clean socks, which he readily found in his own bag; and a pair of his shoes, which were nowhere to be found. Jeans of his brother's he could steal; shoes he could not. Sam's gigantic feet were nearly two sizes bigger than his own and he was barely able to walk as it was without throwing clown shoes into the mix. Giving up on footwear of his own, he crawled back to the chair he had rested his crutches against and carefully pulled his already weary body up off the floor and back onto the seat, the entire process of dressing nearly too much for him.

"Dean, are you sure you can do this?" Trish begged the question, her tone of deep concern unmistakable as she watched him panting where he sat, his brow now soaked with sweat. "Maybe you should just try calling Sam again."

"Yeah, I can do this; just give me a minute," he answered in nothing more than a whisper as he tried to catch the breaths that seemed to be eluding him, his brain not really sure if it wanted to obey his commands or just shut itself off at the moment.

With every last ounce of strength he was sure he possessed, he forced himself up and back onto the crutches that seemed to be the only things holding his body up and staggered back to the closet to find a jacket, pretty sure that it was no longer pleasant, late summer/early fall weather it had been the last time he was outside anymore. Finding his favorite coat hanging in the tiny closet, he jerked it from the hanger and buried his face into it, inhaling deeply as his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. "Thank you Sam for bringing my leather up from the trunk."

"He wore that, you know," Trish reminiscently felt the need to mention as Dean struggled to slide his arms inside the sleeves without falling to the floor. "Every day, he'd sit right beside you wearing that jacket while he talked to you, hoping you'd hear something that would wake you up."

"Guess that explains why it smells like him now, doesn't it," Dean jokingly tried to mutter through his relentless pain as he slid the coat up onto his shoulders and started searching the pockets for the Impala's keys, the thought of his little brother needing that small little piece of him close to him as a sense of security rather heartwarming and totally Sam. He chuckled as he continued patting the jacket's pockets, even though he knew they were empty before giving up completely and beginning a eyeball search of the room instead. "God, he's such a girl."

"No he's not, he just needs his brother, that's all. Don't fault him for that, he could be like mine."

"Yeah, well, someday he might be," Dean couldn't help but think when his father's words echoed in his head, the unnatural shudder it seemed to start in him almost knocking him off balance for the moment as he mumbled his comment barely loud enough for himself to hear. "Ok Sammy, where'd you leave my damn car keys?"

"There's keys over there, next to the TV," Trish pointed out and Dean could barely see them considering the way Sam had carelessly thrown them up on the counter to the point that they were almost totally obscured by the rather large piece of entertainment equipment.

"Sam, you and I are going to have a serious talk about the way you treat my girl and her accessories," he announced out loud, a little bit more then mildly irritated with his brother's treatment of his lady. Grateful that the keys were only a few steps away, he carefully maneuvered around Sam's bed and grabbed them from the counter, motioning for the door as he shoved them into his pocket and worked his way into the direction he had just indicated, grabbing the phone and stuffing that in with the keys as he went. "Let's get this over with."

"Forgive me for saying so, but don't you think you should find something to wear on your feet, and maybe roll up those pant legs before you trip over them?" Trish pointed out, seeing that Sam's jeans were entirely too long for Dean to be trying to move around in when he was already too unsteady on the crutches to begin with.

Dropping his eyes down to the floor, he let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes, not wanting to waste the energy on anything else but heading down to the car. "I'm pretty sure I've got a pair of boots in my trunk and I'll fix the damn pants when I get into the car. I'm telling you now, if I sit, I probably won't get back up again, so let's just go before I change my mind," he flatly stated as he continued his trek, stopping just before exiting the room to take a quick look up and down the hall outside.

The normally busy hallway seemed devoid of must signs of life now that nearly all of the floor staff were huddled in a far off corner talking to a couple of what Dean could positively tell were detectives, making his escape from the hospital room prison more than an easy one. Focusing his eyes on the elevator, he started the long trip down the hallway, stopping briefly at the window to catch a quick glimpse of his beloved car still sitting in the exact same spot he had seen her in the day before and made a mental note of which direction he would have to exit the building from in order to find her once he was outside. With one eye on the elevator and one now on the group chatting it up mere feet away from him, he trudged towards the doors as quickly as he could and nervously pressed the down button, only letting out the breath he had been holding when he was safely inside the elevator car and on his way down, blessedly thankful he had gone completely unnoticed.

Depressing the button that would take him to the first floor and one step closer to freedom, he leaned back and rested his head against the wall behind him with his eyes closed as the car started it's decent, the downward movement initiated by a jerking motion causing Dean to quickly lean forward to hit the stop button, bringing what little movement that had started to a 

quick halt. Breathing heavily, he tried to lean forward but found he just couldn't and he just rested his chin against his chest.

"What's wrong?" Trish begged; her voice filled with near panic.

"Ohhh… I think I'm gonna be sick," he moaned out in one quick string of words without opening his eyes to look at her, hoping that the cessation of downward progress would allow the feeling to pass. After a near eternity of deep breaths, Dean finally started turning a more normal color once again and thought it safe to continue his way back down, never saying a word as the elevator started moving once again.

The ride was a short one but claustrophobia had taken a definite hold on Dean's already strung out emotions and the second the doors were pulled apart, he was through them and out into a rather bustling hallway. Energized by anxiety, he progressed quickly through the lobby he found himself fighting his way through and nearly raced towards the exit doors that were now directly in front of him, the crisp, fresh air hitting him in the face as he did almost intoxicating. Taking in the largest lungful of outside air he could and letting his fear finally pass, he stopped for the moment and scanned the lot for the Impala. Trish had remained silent until now, letting him calm himself before she spoke.

"Follow me, I know where the car is," she softly stated and he did just that, finding his vehicle on his own within a few short steps like he had some kind of internal homing device.

She was a sight for very sore eyes, the vision of her black beauty somehow fueling him more than the fear before it had and he crossed the lot in barely any time, stopping at her side and resting against her sun-warmed metal just to enjoy the feel of her. He could feel what little reserves he had left start to drain away and knew he better move before he just couldn't anymore. Pulling his already heated body away from the slick steel, he forced his way towards the trunk and popped it open, quickly finding the said pair of boots but not bothering to pull them out, what lie underneath of much more importance. Opening the false bottom, he didn't bother looking for his weapon of choice and just grabbed the first two guns he found that were already loaded. Shoving one into the pocket of his jacket right alongside Sam's phone, he palmed the other before slamming the trunk shut again and began the short trip down the side of the car to climb in, not really sure if sitting down was a very good idea at the moment.

Sliding the key into the lock, he pulled open the driver's side door and smiled when he heard her familiar squeak, her way of saying 'I missed you' in his mind. Falling inside more so than climbing, he dragged his heavy, still shoeless feet in, shoved his walking sticks into the foot well of the passenger seat beside him, and gently closed the door, once again breathing in the familiar scent of her glorious leather. _'Something about the smell of a dead cow that just does something to me'. _he thought as he rested his sweat-soaked forehead against the steering wheel and waited for his rather blurry vision to clear. He was bordering on unconscious when her voice ripped through his head, his brain for the moment forgetting she was even there. Turning his gaze to his right, Trish was now seated next to him in Sam's usual spot at shotgun, waiting patiently for him to finish what he had started.

Inserting the key into the ignition had been a feeling almost too good to be true, but turning it and hearing the roar of the engine coming to life seemed to invigorate him once more time and he was thankful for it. He didn't know how much he really had left and he would take what he could get. Praying he had enough leg strength to actually drive, he thought about dropping the transmission into gear, then realized he'd forgotten to take care of one very important thing before taking off for what could very well be a very bad idea. Searching for Sam's cell, he pulled it out of his pocket and dialed Bobby's number once again and once again was dumped right into voicemail. He hastily left his message; pretty sure he didn't have much time to waste.

"Hey Sam… guess you didn't get my last message yet so I'm leaving you another one. Trish and I are going on a little road trip out the farmhouse from hell to say hi to an old friend and maybe take his latest prize home with all her body parts intact. Maybe you and Bobby could meet us there, have a few drinks, you know…good times. Seriously dude, you were right about that house, it's the one. I'm heading there now since Trent's decided to come back to play and he picked Julia as his first play date. Call me when you get this 'cause I sure think I could use your help. Later."

Closing the phone and shoving it back into his already gun-occupied pocket; he put his baby into drive and carefully stepped on the gas.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam's head felt like it was about to explode. For hours he and Bobby searched through old books and documents about local history and had barely scratched the surface of the extensive library. Not that the library was that overly large, but it was relatively proud of its heritage and every even remotely interesting piece of information was recorded proudly, making just about every structure in the entire lower portion of the state a landmark, at least in its opinion. Tossing the current book he had his face buried in up to the eyebrows not so gently back onto the table they sat at, he decided it was time to take a more practical course of action. Standing up and fixing his stare on the young girl sitting behind the librarian's desk, he casually strolled to her as Bobby silently watched him, shaking his head curiously.

"Excuse me miss," he shyly whispered, following the rules of the library to their fullest extent. "I was wondering if you could help me."

Wide brown eyes stared up at the handsome man grinning sheepishly down at her and for the briefest of moments, she almost forgot where she was under his soft, hazel gaze. She seemed lost in them until the much older, much more irritated, fiftyish looking woman sitting at the other end of the desk cleared her throat, allowing her the mental capacity to once again speak. "I'll most definitely try," she replied back in a rather crackly voice, the sound it seemed to make on its own somewhat embarrassing her.

"I have this picture of an old, local farmhouse and I was trying to find where it is but there's just so many books and magazines on local history here that it'll take me days to weed through it all. Any chance there's someone around that could possibly tell anything about this house?" He spoke so softly that his voice now seemed to have the same effect his stare had had on her and 

she mindlessly took the photo from his hands, staring at it unconsciously as she listened to his voice. His tone had been so soft and smooth she nearly jumped when the harsh near bellow broke out from just over her shoulder, almost scaring her half to death.

"That's the old Frederickson farmhouse. Second wealthiest family in the county, next to the Watersons, of course. Guess it just makes sense that Regina Frederickson married Robert Waterson. That's going to be one hell of a fortune for that remaining young man someday now that that poor daughter of theirs is gone," the brusque librarian answered Sam's inquiry with relative ease nearly the instant she caught sight of the photo, the look of surprise on his face forcing her to continue telling him what she knew. "That house has been in that family for nearly two hundred years. Why, back in the day it was even used as a stop for the Undergroud Railroad, helping smuggle escaped slaves across the border, at least that's the rumor anyway. Must be some good hiding places in that house because not one of them ever got caught. Nobody's lived in it since Trent Frederickson got Alzheimer's and was put into a home by his so-called loving daughter though. That had to be at least fifteen years ago, maybe more. Quite sad actually, Trent Frederickson truly was the salt of the earth. How he ended up having a witch for a daughter is beyond me. Anyway, if you're looking for it, it's not that difficult to find."

"Can you give me the address?" Sam cocked his head to the side and smiled his most charming smile in his arsenal and somehow, even the mean, old woman behind the desk seemed to thaw somewhat as she looked back at him.

"Not the exact address, but all you really need to do is head out towards it. It's the only house on the entire stretch of road for at least a mile. You really can't miss it, it still looks pretty much just like it does in that picture. Get yourself out onto route 67 and take it east until just past the town of Sharon. Head north on Highway K and turn right at the second street. You'll see it there plain as day."

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know so much about that house?" Sam inquired, unable to believe his sudden good fortune and ignoring the fact that good fortune was usually followed up by something bad.

"Young man, Regina Frederickson was one of my best friends, until she met that bastard Robert Waterson, that's how. I practically grew up in that house. You run into anyone out there, you just tell them I sent you. Names Francis McDermont, but all my friends called me Frannie."

"Thanks a million Frannie," Sam smiled a wide, genuine smile and being unable to contain his excitement, gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek which made her own face turn ten different shades of red in a matter of seconds.

"Why thank you too, young man. Make sure you come back to visit after you find the house, and bring your friend over there with you too. He looks like someone I'd like to get to know," she commented as she stared at Bobby through her reading glasses, blushing yet again which made the younger girl sitting there silently start to chuckle.

"You bet!" Sam nearly hollered as he turned and ran back in Bobby's direction. Looking the man directly in the eyes, he made his comment short and sweet. "Come on Bobby, we gotta go."

Gathering up the books and papers they had spread out across the entire table, Sam deposited them in the return cart without saying a word as the older hunter just watched him like he was some kind of lunatic, only stopping him when he grabbed his jacket and hastily turned to make his way towards the door.

"Slow down boy. What the hell did that woman tell you that's got you all wound up like the Energizer Bunny on meth?"

"Oh, just about everything we needed to hear. Not only did she tell me where that house is, she told me that Trent Waterson's grandfather owns it and that it used to be a hiding place on the Underground Railroad. Damn it Bobby, he could be in there for years and nobody would ever find him. Oh, all that and that she kinda likes you," Sam nearly squealed the last part like a giggling school girl, which prompted Bobby to grab his own jacket and head for the door in a near run.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

Both men half ran/half walked to the exit, Bobby scrambling for his phone as he quick-paced it out and turning it back on as he went, the obnoxious beeping telling him that he not only missed a call but there was a message waiting for him as well. Turning the display on, he saw who the missed call was from and handed the phone over to Sam, who matched his stride to the truck step for step. Sam saw that there were not just one but three missed calls from his phone and his stomach nearly leapt out of his throat when he began to play the messages that had been left, the second one barely a half hour before. Gone was the boyishly happy smile that had been adorning his face, replaced by a harsh scowl and a look of dread and if Bobby didn't know any better, he was sure the kid was about ready to throw up on his own feet.

"Drive fast Bobby… Dean's gone and done something stupid again," was all he said as he climbed into the cab of the truck and without asking another thing, the older man did exactly what he was told.

"Where to, back to the hospital?" He had to inquire when he realized he had no idea exactly what bowl of stupid Dean decided to eat from today and a look of confusion spread across his face when Sam answered.

"No, to the farmhouse and let's hope we can beat that dumb ass there."

End Notes: Hmm... too much? Not enough? Too long and boring? Anxious to hear opinions!!


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Yes, I know it's been too long of a time since updating this story but I am hoping to rectify that now. Please forgive me for my slow updates, life just seems to get in the way entirely too much lately!!

Chapter 29

"Whadya mean 'the farmhouse'? Ignoring the little fact that he can barely walk for the moment, how's that dipshit planning on getting there anyway?" The surprise was evident not only on the older hunter's face but in his voice as he pressed his foot against the gas pedal with more than a little extra bit of weight, the surge of fuel into the engine causing the tires to spin slightly on the pavement and garnering a dirty look but thankfully nothing more from the less-than-friendly looking officer of the law sitting next to them waiting for the red light they were both currently sitting at to turn green.

"Well… more than likely in the Impala," was the only logical answer Sam could come up with, which is the one that he gave him. "I did leave the keys there, not like that would have stopped him though."

"And how, exactly, does he know where the hell the damn place is? It took us all morning to find it and we'd still be looking if it weren't for the Dewey Decimal queen back there telling us where to go," he stated rather dumbfounded. "And how does he even know he's going to the right farmhouse? There are hundreds of them around here, after all. And what's so damn important that he couldn't just wait for us to get back anyway?"

"One question at a time Bobby," Sam begged the man to slow down his barrage of inquiries to give him an opportunity to supply him with what few answers he could from the sketchy information he actually did have. "He said Trish told him."

"Well, isn't that just the best news I've heard all day," he emphatically expressed his displeasure as sarcastically as he possibly could at the first answer Sam provided. Bobby knew what the ghostly woman's presence meant to Dean even if Sam did not. Dean had let that minor detail slip out to him during their heart to heart after his botched suicide attempt. If Trish had come to Dean, Dean had to be in some kind of physical distress and he was beginning to wonder if he should have put a little more credence into Sam's instinctive worrying earlier that morning. "He better have a damn good reason for leaving that hospital and going out there alone in the condition he's in."

"He said Trent came back… and that he's got Julia," Sam dropped the bomb and Bobby nearly lost control of the truck from the shock of the announcement.

"I guess that's as good a reason as any," the man behind the wheel muttered before stepping on the gas a little harder once they were finally out of town and onto the open country road that would take them where they needed to go.

"What the hell is he thinking Bobby?" The quiet that had settled in the truck was a little too unnerving for him and Sam decided to express the anger that was creeping up inside him when the older, more sensible man just remained quiet. Bobby's words repeated themselves in his head and he couldn't help but dwell on the simple fact that he was absolutely correct; Dean had no business going after Trent on his own. "He's in no condition to be confronting a girl scout selling cookies let alone a crazed serial killer holding on to a potential victim… and a crazed serial killer that probably wants him dead at that. Damn it, doesn't he ever think before he does?"

"He's never done it before, what makes you think he'd start now? Especially when Trent's got another victim all lined up already and one Dean has gotten to know over the last couple days to boot. It's different this time because the bastard just made it personal." Bobby tried making some sense out of Dean's senseless actions and Sam had to admit that the man was right again. Shaking his head in disbelief at how idiotic his brother was at times, both men said nothing more as the pickup sped down the highway.

The low rumble was the only sound that could be heard when Bobby turned the truck towards the house that, albeit timeworn and weathered, looked almost exactly the way it did in the picture except for the added addition of an attached, three car garage. The hunters rolled up the gravel drive in practically no time, but that's how it tends to play out when the man behind the wheel drives the barely twenty miles between their start and their finish at speeds exceeding eighty as his passenger mumbled irritated nonsense under his breath nearly the entire trip. As the ground beneath the tires crackled under the weight of the wheels, Sam expelled the breath he had been holding since Bobby had put the truck in gear and pulled away from the library when he saw no sign of the Impala or Dean.

"Thank god we beat him here," Sam let out a slight sigh of relief as he wrapped a hand around the door handle and pulled before Bobby could even put the truck into park where he'd finally brought it to a halt just outside one of the three individual garage doors. He'd had a gnawing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach that had waned somewhat when he saw no other vehicles in the driveway or any signs of human life aside from Bobby but the calm didn't last long when his mind started running away with itself. Glancing at his watch, he couldn't help but bellow back into the cab of the truck through the still open door he had just exited from when he noticed what time it actually was. "Shit! Dean left that message nearly an hour ago. He should be here already. You don't think something happened to him, do you?"

"No I don't and would you calm yourself down a minute for Christ's sake? Just because Dean's not here yet doesn't mean Trent's not and if ya' keep hollering your head off I think he's gonna know he ain't alone anymore," Bobby warned and Sam very thankfully came to his senses almost in the blink of the old man's eye and he instantly heeded. Climbing back inside, he scowled as he sat on the seat and stewed, still wondering to himself how they had beaten his normally lead-footed brother there. Bobby wasn't psychic but he could clearly tell that the younger sibling was thinking the worst about the older one and now that Sam had regained a modicum of control over himself, he decided to finish what he had started saying. "Stop worrying that your idiotic, pigheaded brother isn't here yet. Just because he left that message damn near an hour ago doesn't mean he took off an hour ago. Hell, it could have taken him an hour just to get out of the damn bed and down to the car, assuming he even made it to the car. For all you, he may have gotten caught on his way out and was sent right back to his room after they confiscated your phone and…"

"Ok, I get the point," Sam cut the man off, knowing full well that for as many reasons as he could come up with to fear that some terrible fate had befallen Dean, Bobby could come up with just as many excuses to explain his absence as of yet. "So, what now? Do we sit and wait here for Dean to show or do we check out the house without him?"

"Son, I am not waitin' for your invalid brother to come limping along before we head in when that rat bastard may already know we're here," Bobby stated without hesitation as he started rummaging through the glove box for the heavy .45 he had stowed away in it only the day before and turned to give Sam a slight frown as he cocked it and palmed the weapon in his nervously sweaty hand. "I love Dean like he was one of my own, but even you have to admit that right now, all he will be is a liability. We go in without him and check out that house from top to bottom and if we don't find anything, we wait for him to show us exactly what it is he thinks he knows. If we're lucky, we can take care of this little mess before he even gets here because I'm doubtin' he's gonna be in any condition to help us much."

Not waiting for a response, Bobby threw his door open and jumped from the cab with his eyes fixed on the house and its surroundings. Sam had to once again agree with his seemingly genius logic and he followed the more experienced man's lead. Grasping his brother's favorite, ivory handled pistol he'd been carrying around with him for weeks in his own hand, he shifted his mindset from worried little brother to skilled hunter in the blink of an eye and traced Bobby's steps up to the house. Both men crept up the stairs onto the porch and after Sam made short work of the lock on the door, they silently slipped inside without making so much as a sound.

The exterior of the old home gave no indication as to the interior. Time had taken somewhat of a toll on the furnishings, but everything had remained beautifully intact and both Sam and Bobby were amazed at how easily it would be for someone to move right in and have all of the comforts of home already at their disposal. A thick layer of dust dulled the vibrant reds and greens of the furniture and carpets throughout but the house still had an air of wealth to it. Footprints and fingerprints were scarcely spaced but everything had obviously gone undisturbed for the last twenty years, just as the librarian had said.

Tapping the butt of his gun against his chest, Sam motioned up when he got Bobby's attention and the older hunter shook his head in acknowledgement. Pointing to his own person before waving his hand in a circular pattern, he indicated to Sam that he would check out the ground floor while Sam investigated the upstairs. He watched Sam climb the stairs that would take him to the upper level and was amazed that as tall and awkwardly gangly as he was, he moved with an incredible amount of stealth, never once making any sound as he took the steps slowly and carefully.

Leaving Sam to his task, Bobby continued his exploration of the overly spacious manor. _'Farmhouse my ass,' _he thought as he went from room to room, never seeming to find an end to how many he had to look into only to find nothing. Finally making his way to the kitchen, he got his first red light that something was amiss in the old place. The lightly colored, ceramic tiled floor that had accumulated a two decade layer of dust currently settled benignly atop it was no longer as smooth and unmarred as freshly fallen snow. Numerous footprints were strewn between a door just to his right and a door at the far end of the room with an occasional thick drag line thrown in for good measure. Relatively sure the footprints ended at what was the door leading directly into the basement, Bobby left the kitchen and retraced his steps back to the front room just as Sam was coming down the stairs apparently empty handed.

"You find anything up there?"

"Just more of what's down here," he reported as he took the last of the stairs two at a time. "What about you?"

"Kitchen's this way and by the looks of it, someone's been through it recently," he informed Sam as he led the way to the back of the house. Stopping just inside the entryway and pointing to the floor, he knew Sam was thinking exactly what he was thinking. Pretty sure one door led to the basement, they needed to see what may be behind the other one before they made any attempt at heading down into an area they could very well get trapped in. "You stand by door number one while I check out what's behind door number two."

Nodding silently at Bobby while the elder man left his own set of bootprints behind in the dust as he crept cautiously towards the closed door on the other side of the kitchen, Sam couldn't help but notice the vaguely familiar, small, circular patterns spaced every couple of feet apart in the remaining layers of grit along with all the other tell-tale signs that someone or something had been there recently and racked his brain trying to figure out what the hell could have made them. He didn't have a whole lot of time to ponder the discovery though when the sounds of Bobby taking a heavy foot to the locked door commanded Sam's straying attention and the younger hunter immediately took a shooting stance, ready to take down anything that may come through the now open entryway and directly at either one of them.

Bobby had turned quickly away from the now open entrance when he felt the door give under the sharp blow of his foot and pressed his back firmly against the wall next to it in anticipation of meeting up with something that was sure to be of the unfriendly variety but as both he and Sam stood starkly still in the oddly calm quiet, he relaxed his stance when it was clear that nothing was coming through. Turning to face the darkened room beyond the kitchen's boundaries, Bobby took a few tentative steps inside and groped for a light switch as Sam came up behind him, the chirping of the older man's phone in Sam's back pocket shattering the oppressive silence that had fallen between them and making both men jump in their skins. Fumbling about for the wailing cell in his pocket, Sam finally found it and sighed when he saw the caller ID displaying his own name. Forcing it open to answer as Bobby at long last found a light switch to flip that would illuminate whatever was on the other side of the now busted door; Sam couldn't help but express his irritation with his wayward brother.

"Where the hell are you Dean?" He barked rather harshly into the mouthpiece, not even bothering to answer the call in the traditional manner. When all he heard from the other end was a heavy sigh, Sam felt the need to elaborate. "You should have been here a long time ago man. What is taking you so long?"

When what Sam thought to be one harsh sigh after another echoed through the receiver with no words being spoken in-between, he was starting to fear that something was seriously wrong on Dean's end of the call. The more carefully he listened, the more Sam realized that it wasn't sighs he heard coming from his brother but hard and heavy breathing that sounded more and more strained with each attempt at sucking in air. With his irritation quickly turning into panic, Sam put all the effort he could gather into remaining calm, knowing he had to find a way to get his brother to speak through those strained breaths.

"Dean, are you alright?" He asked the typically first question he always asked with a bit of hesitation, hoping he would get some sort of verbal answer.

"No," the one and only word that came out was barely audible but Sam heard it loud and clear as if it had been screeched by a banshee and for some reason, he suddenly felt sick.

"Can you tell me where you are," Sam nearly begged the question as he listened to the unusual breathing pattern coming from his brother. He could clearly hear Dean try to take in a deep breath then hold it longer then he probably should have before expelling it and forcing in another, almost as if breathing was the last thing he wanted to be doing at the moment.

"Sam… help," two words this time, both said with a little more force than the first but followed by an incredibly anguished groan that made Sam's skin crawl.

"Oh god Dean, where the hell are you?" Sam was having a hard time hiding how terrified he was becoming with each second that his brother said nothing to him passed. "Dean, please… I can't help you if I can't find you. Where are you, can you at least tell me that?"

"He's here Sam," Bobby's words hit him like a kick in the groin and for a minute he thought he'd just imagined what the older man had just said.

"What?" Sam's astonishment was painfully apparent and Bobby had no intentions of repeating himself. Grabbing the young hunter by the arm not attached to the phone plastered against his ear, he dragged Sam through the door he had just busted open into what was the three car garage. Of the two spots that were taken, Sam's stomach lurched up into his throat as he watched Bobby pull back the heavy tarp that had been thrown over the car in the space farthest from the door, the normally gleaming black that was now covered in dust and gravel showing Sam exactly what Bobby had meant. Sitting right there before his very eyes was his brother's beloved car, telling him that his brother had to be here somewhere.

"We're already here Dean, just tell me where in the house you are," Sam tried spitting out now that his throat has seemingly seized up at the sight of the Impala nicely hidden away, the fear that Trent had done something to Dean quickly becoming a harsh reality.

"Base…" the one, lowly word was barely spoken and Sam knew it hadn't been a complete word that came out before Dean had fallen deathly silent on the other end of the call with even the sounds of his breathing now quiet. Giving Bobby a quick glance, Sam cocked his brother's gun and marched towards the other door that still hung on its hinges in the kitchen, ready to kill whatever might get in his way.


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N: Thanks again to all that are still reading this load of garbage I seem to be trudging through. I know there are those other stories of mine that need attention but I'm really working at wrapping up a couple of the older ones so I can focus a little better on the newer ones. It's taken almost a year for this one and it deserves a conclusion. Thanks again for all your patience and understanding._

Chapter 30

Dean had said all of two words since hastily leaving his message for his brother and Bobby, the sudden jolt of energy the blessed roar of his baby's engine filling his ears had given him lasting long enough for him to put her into reverse and ease her gently out of her resting place but affording him little else. Reverse had been the easy part, but putting pressure onto the gas pedal with his shoeless foot once she was in drive was another story altogether. With barely any strength left in his legs after the nearly torturous walk from his room through the hospital corridors and down to the parking lot, the only resource he had to draw from was the ever growing intensity coming from the frequent jabs of pain that shot through his mid-section every time he moved.

He had navigated the parking lot somewhat erratically while his weakened body tried to regain the familiar feel of being behind the wheel but once he found an exit and quietly whispered "Which way" to his right, he followed Trish's direction that got him out to the open country roads. He had to cringed slightly when he realized he needed to aid his leg with a little added push from his hand in order to give the car the extra gas it would need to not only meet but exceed the speed limit and locked his knee in that place once he reached a relatively obnoxious speed, praying every tenth of a mile he wouldn't have to stop suddenly because he knew that just wasn't going to happen.

"I guess it's a good thing I'm already dead," Trish's off-the-wall comment finally caught Dean's attention, causing his intensely serious face to turn away from the road and onto her where she sat next to him in Sam's shot-gun position.

"What did you just say?" He couldn't help but stare at her as if she was speaking in a foreign tongue when his brain actually processed what she had just let come out of her mouth.

"I said it's a good thing I'm already dead. That way, when you wreck this precious car of yours with the way you're driving it right now, the only person you'll end up killing is yourself," she stated rather sternly and Dean couldn't help but be taken aback.

"The way I drive?! You 'Flintstone' brake via tree and you're complaining about the way I drive?"

"Don't go there Dean. Remember, I may have been behind the wheel but I wasn't the one that was driving," she very abruptly reminded him but the second she saw his mouth open to sarcastically retort, she continued talking to shut him up. "You haven't listened to a word I've said in the last ten minutes, have you?"

"Uh, not really," he had to confess because he knew the startled look on his face had already said it all. Truth be told, his focus had been so wrapped up with keeping his foot firmly on the accelerator and the car on the road that he really didn't have much attention span left for anything else. "Sorry, I'm just a little preoccupied. What were you saying?"

"I was trying to tell you about the house," she informed him, then started repeating herself although it was the first time Dean had actually heard what she was trying to share with him. "My Grandfather used to tell us these incredible stories of how they would hide runaway slaves in this secret room down in the basement but we never really believed him until he decided to show us one afternoon while my parents had a bottle of scotch each before deciding to tear one other a new asshole. I was only four and really didn't care about such things, but Trent was older and totally fascinated with the room and the stories behind it."

"Probably not one of the smartest ideas your grandfather ever had," Dean couldn't help but interject with a strong hint of sarcasm in the tone.

"Well, he had to tell someone and my brother wasn't exactly a sociopath at the time. Neither one of my parents knew it was there and they still don't to this day. In fact, as far as I know, nobody but my grandfather knew the room even existed once his father was dead until he told us. There's no house structure built over it so you really wouldn't have a clue by looking at blueprints and the door is built right into one of the walls to make it nearly impossible to open unless you know exactly how to do it. Trent always marveled at how perfectly concealed it really was. We used to hide down there like the world didn't exist when my parents would argue but once Grandpa got sick, we never really came around here much. When they diagnosed him with Alzheimer's, my mom had him put in a home and that was that. It's been a long time, but I still remember how to get inside. Grandpa made us promise we'd never tell a soul but he also made us promise we'd never forget."

"So, you're telling me that aside from you and your brother, the only other person that can open that door can't remember that it's even there?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. The walls are thick stone and believe me when I say that the entire room is totally soundproof. You can't hear anything from inside it and nothing from the outside can be heard when you're in. You can see why it's the perfect hideout for him. He'd never be found unless he wanted to be."

"Most grandfathers hand down gold watches to their children and grandchildren. Lucky Trent, he got a torture chamber. Way to go Gramps," Dean snidely remarked and Trish could tell it wasn't just irritation grating on him. She caught every wince his face made as he fought but lost the urge to fidget in his seat and even though he kept the movements he made minimal, it generated enough pain to make him hiss slightly when he did it. She could also see that the cold sweat he had broken out in as he made his way to the car had not gone away when his physical exertion had stopped but seemed to be progressively getting worse which should have been a clear indication to Dean that there was probably something very wrong with him right now. Taking all that into account, she let the crack about her beloved grandfather just slide and decided to wait out the rest of the ride in silence.

After a few short words on her part to indicate an impending change of direction was due and a couple of rather scary turns that Trish was convinced would roll the car onto its side but miraculously had not, Dean finally brought the monster vehicle to an abrupt halt with the bumper nearly kissing the door of the garage that, from his vague recollection, hadn't been in the picture Sam had showed him.

"The garage was added on some time in the early 80's," she began telling him as if he had verbally stated the thought but she hesitated on continuing to share the rest of what she was thinking when she took a long, hard look at him. Dean may have turned off the car but he had left the keys dangling in the ignition and made no move or effort to climb out from the comfort of his seat. He had simply rested his now heavy head against the top of the seatback behind him when he realized leaning forward against the steering wheel was more pain than relief and pinched his eyes shut tight, hoping that the sharp stabbing feeling in his abdomen would just pass or at lease subside enough for him to move again. Keeping his lips pursed tightly together and doing his best to breathe in and out through his nose as deeply as his body would allow, Trish would have sworn by the way he sucked in air that Dean was about ready to pass out. "Maybe we should just wait here for Sam. I don't think …"

"No, I'm ok. I just need to catch my breath for a second," he told himself more so than he was trying to convince her and when he realized her ghostly stare was fixed on him exactly the way Sam's would be, he sucked in a one more deep breath and tried to ignore every scream coming from the pit of his stomach that was fighting to be let out. "Basement, right?"

She sighed and shook her head as she answered, not entirely sure she was letting him do the right thing but at the moment it was the only thing she could think to do. As Dean's obvious discomfort seemed to intensify, so did her connection with him but she still had a slight connection to not only her brother but a rather strong one with his recent victims and she knew from the chatter in her head between the other girls exactly what Trent was getting ready to do to Julia... again. "There's a door on the side of the garage. The garage leads into the kitchen and straight to the basement door. It's the shortest and the easiest way in."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Lead the way Pocahontas," Dean had to huff as reached for the crutches resting in the foot well before he threw the car door open and tried to swing his legs out. Trish could almost feel the resulting waves of heat and pain that coursed across his entire torso when his feet hit the ground but with an incredible determination, he seemed undeterred by it. Shoving the gun that he had left resting in his lap as he drove into the waistband of his brother's somewhat baggy pants that he wore, he paused for the longest time with his back to her and Trish could only wish she could see his face. It was obvious to her that he was shivering slightly but doing his best to hide it.

"I think maybe you mean Sacagawea, don't you?" She jokingly corrected him but he didn't seem to find any humor in her comment when he didn't facetiously respond with another one of his own. Either that or he had just stopped listening again.

"Whatever you say," nearly out of breath and seemingly having a hard time catching it, he mouthed the words quietly as he forced his body upright. His firm grip on the car door with one hand and the crutches with the other was the only thing stopping his face from landing in the gravel under his feet when his knees wanted to buckle from the weight he was forcing on them but after a few scary seconds of swaying to and fro, his legs decided they would hold steady for him.

Forcing a crutch under each arm, he hobbled forward as quickly as he could, never bothering to close the car door behind him. The walk around the garage to the side wasn't a long one but by the time Dean finally got to it, he felt like he had run a marathon. His forehead was bathed in almost as much sweat as the rest of his agonized body was and the chill that had started crawling up his spine when he first pulled himself out of the car had now enveloped him from head to toe but he refused to stop, he refused to wait for Sam. He wanted to finish this on his own and he wanted to finish it now. Sam could bring up the rear to pick up the pieces after him.

"There's a key under…" Trish wanted to tell him but Dean didn't wait for her to finish. Reaching for the door handle, he gave it a quick turn and was not the least bit surprised to find that the door was unlocked.

"Arrogant bastard. Let him keep thinking nobody's gonna catch him. Makes my job easier," Dean mumbled almost to himself as he gave the door a push and let it drift open with a soft creak.

Dean peered through the open doorway into what Trish had told him was the oversized garage but could see almost nothing through the darkness blanketing the area before him. Letting his armpits support most of his weight while he relied on the crutches he walked with to hold his body up for him, he released his hold on the handgrips just long enough to draw the gun stashed in his pocket alongside Sam's phone out before reaching in to feel for a light switch. Taking in a preparatory breath as he hit the switch that would light up the space beyond where he stood, he was a little more than relieved to find nothing on the other side of the door but a large, black sedan in the spot closest to the house itself. Carefully dragging one nearly useless foot as he tried to walk with the other, he clumsily entered the garage and for the umpteenth time in his life, wished he had more than two hands.

With his sights set on the door all the way on the other side of the garage, he ignored everything around him, including Trish, and focused all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other. With a fierce determination, he had crossed the entire space from door to door in little time, the additional sweat he had worked up in the process coating his face and neck in glistening beads and causing him to shiver all the more. Stopping just short of the entryway that would take him into the house, he once again had to force his lungs to catch their breath as he stood staring at the new barrier before him. Trish didn't like what she was seeing but didn't really know how to stop him from continuing on now that she was thoroughly convinced Dean was in no condition to confront Trent but obviously dead set on doing just that anyway.

"I never should have let you come here," she whispered to him as she reached out to touch his arm, knowing full well she would make no contact but needing to try anyway.

"I don't know how you could have stopped me," he nearly had to pant out in response and indicated he had seen her unsuccessful attempt at restraining him.

"I could have kept my big mouth shut," she woefully spoke. Watching him sway slightly on his feet with his head bowed and his eyes now closed, Trish now regretted ever coming to Dean before Sam had returned. "At least until Sam got back. Then you would have never gotten out of that bed you really should still be in right now."

"Yeah… and Julia would probably be dead by the time Sam got here," his comment subtly reminded her of the fact that there was a living, breathing victim of her brother's still in the basement and he had every intention of doing whatever was in his power to change that not-so-minor detail.

"Well, you don't look that far from dead right now yourself, Dean," she voiced her observation of his rapidly deteriorating condition rather forcefully, almost as if it was late-breaking news to the frail hunter. "There's something really wrong with you and I think we should just go back to the car and wait for Sam, please."

"Trish, I don't even know where Sam is or if he's even gotten any of the messages I've left for him. We have to do this now before your brother kills Julia because I am not living with the death of another innocent person on my conscious when I know there was something I could have done about it. If I had just listened to you sooner, none of this would be happening right now and it ends today," Dean was adamant and judging by the way he glared at the dead woman standing before him, wasn't changing his mind for anything. If she had wanted to say anything else, his turning away from her to open the dreaded door before him had silenced the thought and with his head full of not only pain but a slight bit of sudden fury, he forced his way into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him.

With the nearly unbearable pain in his stomach and legs temporarily replaced by the sheer anger he felt at Trent and everything he had done to not only Trish but all the other girls that had had the unfortunate luck of crossing his path, Dean traversed the kitchen almost before Trish had and threw the basement door open wide, not caring how much noise he made doing it. Looking down into the curiously well-lit cellar, he could see that the stairs were fairly steep and he knew there was no way he was taking them down on his feet with the crutches he carried, not when he needed a free hand to carry the much needed gun he held. Deciding the handrail would just have to do, he paired the crutches together and tossed them down to the basement floor where he would have pick them back up from when he finally made it there himself. The shaking in his legs had worked its way up to his arms sometime during his trip from the garage to the kitchen and instead of trying to walk down the stairs he decided he'd ride them.

Lowering his body to the floor had been as agonizingly painful as he had thought it would be and when his behind finally met solid ground, he was able to relax just somewhat before expelling the breath he had sucked in and held before even making the move that he knew he was not going to enjoy. His body was nearly out of gas but his brain was still burning bright and with a new mental image of Trent hovering over Julia conjured up in his head to use as motivation, he pulled from that to slide his body down stair by stair on his backside until he was blessedly at the bottom. Without taking a pause, because he knew if he did he probably wouldn't start moving again, he reached for the crutches resting against the bottom step and forced himself back up onto his feet as Trish seemed to float effortlessly down the stairway behind him.

"You suck," he breathlessly spit out as he scowled at her when she hit bottom and she would have chuckled a bit at the forced and very insincere dirty look he had given her had it not been for the shadow she spotted just under the stairs. The moving shadow she had spotted but her scream that only he could hear had been just a little too late. "DEAN!"

Dean had been so out of breath and wracked with pain as he stood there trying to gather his strength enough to start moving again that he had never even caught a glimpse of the heavy piece of lumber being swung directly at him and surprisingly enough, its direct contact with his midsection didn't register instantly with him either. The force of the blow had been enough to knock him off his already unsteady feet and it had taken the few seconds between the impact and his final destination on the cold ground for the initial shock to pass enough for his brain to catch up with his body. When it did though, Dean was sure that Mt. Vesuvius had erupted in his groin after centuries of pent-up silence and spread hot, molten lava throughout his entire core that sucked all the air out of his lungs and left him unable to breathe. An immeasurable fear had started to sink in at the prospect of his own body suffocating itself when he couldn't even force himself to make an attempt at drawing in any air and as he fought with all his might to take even a tiny breath, he finally saw the shadow Trish had tried to warn him about approaching him from the dark. Curling up into a ball in the hopes of easing some of the nearly unbearable agony he found himself trapped in enough to jump start his blindsided lungs; all he could do was look up at the menacing figure now towering over him with tears in his eyes and almost wished he could just die.

"Dean, it's so nice of you to come and join our little party," Trent smiled down at him with a cold, dead stare as he clutched his baseball bat in his hands and held it up high over his head. Bringing the Louisville Slugger down hard against Dean's side once again, he nearly danced with glee when he watched the helpless man start convulsing on the ground as he started losing his struggle to breathe. "I don't remember sending you out an invitation but you really are more than welcome. Come inside and let's have some more fun, shall we?"


End file.
